


Shadows And Shapes

by katalizi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Memory Loss, Philinda - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 113,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katalizi/pseuds/katalizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission gone wrong leaves Melinda May with complete memory loss, but when she discovers the person she used to be she's not sure she even wants to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She awoke to the strange sensation of being both extremely comfortable and also in quite a bit of pain. It didn’t take much for her to realise that she was laying in a luxuriously soft bed and that the pain was coming from her own body, a collection of severe aches and pains that all seemed to centre on a throbbing in her head. She opened her eyes a sliver and quickly shut them again, groaning as the white hot light seared into her brain, causing another spike of agony. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly she felt something grasp at her hand, fingers warm and calloused, and from somewhere above her she head a man’s voice. “Melinda? Melinda, can you hear me?” And then, slightly louder, “Simmons! Get in here!”

She groaned again, turning her face to the side to bury it in her pillow. Melinda? Simmons? Who where they? And who was this person making so much noise that her head pounded with renewed vigour. With phenomenal effort she pealed her eyes open and squinted up at the dark shape that loomed above her, focusing with all her might until the strange shadow slowly solidified into the shape of a man she had never seen before in her life. He was leaning over her, his face too close to hers and his hand gripping so tightly onto hers that it actually started to hurt a little. He was middle-aged and disheveled, wearing a crumpled white shirt that was un-buttoned at the collar and looked as if it’d been slept in. He was staring down at her with such intensity that she sunk back into her pillow a little and when he raised his hand as if to place it in her head she couldn’t help but flinch away. He saw this and drew back as if stung, hurt and confusion dancing across his face.

“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked rapidly as she struggled to sit up, snarling at the man when he tried to help her and pulling her hand out of his with such ferocity that he stepped back a little, as if shocked. She sat, panting for a few moments as she tried to think with her head swimming and the man just stood there with a look of worry starting to form on his face. They both jumped as a door swung open with a clang and a young woman with short, dark hair rushed in.

“May!” she exclaimed as she laid eyes on her. Her tones came out in a clipped English accent. “You’re awake! Oh, thank goodness, we were all so very, very worried!”

“Simmons,” said the man, his voice low, but she didn’t notice. She continued to bustle around the small room, collecting various instruments before making a bee-line directly to her bed side. As the woman - Simmons? - raised a small silver stick and pointed it at her face she struck out her hand and sent whatever it was flying across the room. Simmons jumped back with a looks of shock and fear, but she didn’t care. She hurt, everything hurt, nothing was making sense and slowly, very slowly she was beginning to become aware that something was terribly wrong with her. She glanced over at the man who was still standing next to her bed as if frozen, a frown fixed above unblinking eyes. At first glance she thought he was almost emotionless except for the way he kept taking light, rapid breaths as if in a panic.

“May?” Simmons quaked out, keeping her distance. “May, what’s the matter?”

The woman in the bed just gave her a hard, uncompromising stare. “Who the hell is May?”

 

* * *

Melinda Qiaolian May. An agent of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. That’s who she was. Or at least, that’s who he told her she was. He was Phil Coulson, director of the agency, her boss, and he had stayed in the room with her when the doctor - Jemma Simmons - had skittered away in a flurry of words that had included ‘more tests’ and ‘memory loss’.

Memory loss. Amnesia. She knew what these things were. She knew she was in a bed, in a medical bay, in a building, in a country. She could name things - desk, lamp, tree, fire. The earth went around the sun, the tides came in and went out, people had families and jobs and cars and children. She knew the world. She just didn’t know anything about the people who shared it with her. And she certainly didn’t know anything about this man who hovered by her bedside as if too cautious to come any closer but also reluctant to move away. He said they were friends. She didn’t remember. He said they’d known each other for years. Blank. He kept throwing names at her as if they’d trigger something - Skye, Fitz, Mack, Lola, Fury, Maria - nothing. The pounding in her skull still hadn’t gone away and his non-stop droning didn’t help. She had a feeling, deep in her gut, that at any other time she would’ve found his voice quite soothing. He was neither loud or sharp and there was definitely a familiar quality to it, almost as if she were walking along and heard a few bars from a song that she hadn’t heard in years. But right now it was just causing her pain.

“You were involved in a mission, and it went south.” He was talking. Still. He hadn’t stopped talking. “There was a massive explosion and … the building …” His voice started to choke up so he stopped and cleared his throat before continuing. “The damage was catastrophic. We were sure that no-one could’ve survived that. But if anyone could, it’s be you.” Here he stopped and smiled down at her, the barest twitching of his lips, and his eyes shone almost as if he were holding back tears. But when Melinda just stared up at him without any comprehension, just a flat look of mistrust, the smile faltered and died. For a second he made as if he wanted to reach out to her but after a warning flashed in her eyes he just folded his arms and looked down, continuing on with the story in a voice that struggled to remain detached. “I … we searched though the rubble for two days before we found you and … you weren’t in a good way. And since then you’ve been in this bed for nearly … nearly three weeks.” He heaved a sigh and rubbed at his face. “Your heart stopped twice,” he whispered, almost as if to himself. “And so many times I thought -”

“You talk a lot.”

His head jerked up at her interruption. She hadn’t said a word since she demanded to know who ‘May’ was. His mouth hung open a moment before he tried to continue. “Melinda, I -”

“You talk a lot, and all this noise is hurting my head.” She looked him up and down, scrutinising every inch of him, his folded hands, his scuffed shoes, every single line and curve of his face. Nothing. This man was a total stranger to her. A stranger who would was staring at her in a way that made her feel both hot and cold. “From what I can gather, you’re my boss. So whatever … disaster I was involved in, I was there because of orders you gave. Am I right?”

He looked absolutely devastated at her conclusions, but with a tight jaw he managed to nod.

“Right,” she said softly, before fixing him with a stare. “I might not know who I am, but I can figure out what type of man you are, Phillip. And you are a man wracked with guilt. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You were hoping I’d wake up and tell you it was all going to be fine?”

Here she could see a touch of anger at her accusations, but he held it in check. “How could you say that? Melinda -”

“I don’t know who Melinda is!” she shouted, her voice shrill and shaking. The pounding in her head increased so much that she had trouble keeping her eyes open. “And I don’t know who you are but you keep _talking_ , talking as if these endless words are going to mean something to me but they _don’t!_ _I don’t know her!_ ” She stopped and put her head in her hands, finger threading their way into her hair and holding tight, the throbbing now a series of flashing spikes of pain that criss-crossed her skull and with that pain came the fear. Was she even a person if she didn’t even remember her name? How could she be sure she was even this ‘Melinda’? She didn't even realise she'd started talking again. “I don’t know her, I don’t know her, I don't know her …” She looked up at Phillip and through the haze of her pain she noted that a single tear had streak it’s way down his face. She didn’t care. “Get out,” she said through gritted teeth. “Get out, leave me alone! _Leave me alone!_ ”

But by the time she’d said it the second time he’d already fled the room.


	2. Chapter 2

One thing she’d quickly learned about herself was that she wasn’t one to wallow. Once Phillip had left she’d systematically looked over herself and began to remove all the tubes and wires that were stuck in her arms and - elsewhere. She knew what a catheter was - oh, she didn’t know her own name but she became well aware that she’d been pissing in a bag for nearly a month. Brilliant. A small part of her mind whined that this wasn’t the best idea, that the IVs were inserted for a reason, but she just wanted to be free of restraints. Once she was done, discarding the medical equipment onto a chair that was next to her bed, she managed to hobble over and turned off the light, lock the door and then go straight back to bed. Everything hurt and despite being told that she’d been unconscious for the better part of three weeks she was still tired. All she wanted was true, peaceful rest. As she buried her head in the pillow and huddled beneath the covers she shot out a quick prayer to the universe that once she woke up everything would make sense again.

Life was full of disappointments, but she somehow already knew that.

At least her headache was gone, although other aches and pains across her body reminded her that she had, in fact, been in an explosion. That part at least seemed to be true. She threw off her covers and looked down at her body, small and clad in a clean medical gown that went to her knees. From what she could see of the faded bruises and healing cuts her body had been repairing itself as she slept and she wiggled her toes experimentally before swinging her legs over the side and hobbling out of bed. The light was still off but there was a glass pane in the still locked door that let a stream of artificial light in. She paused at the door, listening hard. She had zero concept of time and so couldn’t tell if it were the middle of the day or night. At any rate, she didn’t hear anything so she continued on to another door that she hoped would lead to a bathroom.

She was correct in her assumptions, but by the time she got there she needed to sit on the toilet for a few minutes with her head propped in her hands as she willed the light-headed dizziness away. She wasn’t overly surprised by this as three weeks in a coma was sure to leave her weakened, but she resented it all the same. The ensuite was small but it had a shower and while she would’ve loved to have a long, hot soak, she was slightly concerned that in her condition she might very well drown. So she settled for a quick wash in the basin, stopping regularly to rest and gather her strength before continuing to the next arduous step of brushing her teeth.

Rather than draining her she felt her movement rekindle life within her body. Her heart started pumping a little faster, a little stronger, and her sluggish blood began to race around her body once more. As she became more awake and more alert she realised that there was something a little off about this ensuite. She took a step back and looked about her. It felt … lived in. The dark towel and the amenities in the shower had obviously been used and there was a white singlet hanging on the lower railing. A mans singlet. She paused a moment and eyed the toothbrush she’d just used, that was still in her hand. Well. Clearly her higher reasoning wasn’t quite up and running yet as she’d just assumed the toothbrush was for her. She recalled Phillip’s dishevelled state, looked around at the masculine products before her, and then glanced back out at her hospital room. She noted the chair next to her bed - hospitals had chairs, didn’t they? That wasn’t strange - but for the first time noticed a rollaway, a cot that had been folded up and stored in one corner during the day. Two and two finally clunked together in her coma addled mind. Phillip had been sleeping here and had been using this bathroom, if not too frequently. He had stayed by her side as she lay unconscious and unresponsive. Her hands started to shake again but this time not from fatigue and she quickly dropped the toothbrush, washed out her mouth and stumbled back to her bed where she could rest in comfort and think things through.

Her whole world consisted of two people. Doctor Jemma Simmons seemed a nervous yet nice sort of person although, she reflected, the doctor’s nerves might be a reaction to ‘Melinda’ - someone she seemed to know rather well - violently smacking things out of her hands. And Phillip Coulson also seemed … nice. Nice, but annoying. Or just unaware of what effect his voice was having on her head at the time. She glanced back at the cot. Perhaps it wasn’t his? Perhaps, in coma cases, there had to be someone in the room at all times in case she woke up. But as soon as she thought this the idea seemed silly. She was pretty sure there was no medical reason for someone to stay by her side when she was little more than a inanimate object, and people didn’t just stay in hospital rooms for the fun of it. Then why was it there? Who was Phillip to her?

Suddenly Melinda started feeling all hot again as her heart sped up. That was the question, wasn’t it? Who was he in her life, her previous life she could no longer remember? She recalled how he’d grasped at her hand and tried to reach out to her, how worn and anxious he’d seemed, how he’d realised there was something wrong with her even before the doctor did. How he’d been by her side for three weeks and watched as her heart stopped twice …

She glanced down at her left hand. Nothing. A quick search of her bedside table came up empty for jewellery but when she found an ornate framed picture of her alongside another older woman all thoughts of Phillip evaporated. This other woman seemed to be of a smaller stature than her but Melinda could detect similarities in the lips and the eyes … a swift, stabbing pain went straight through her heart. This was her mother, she was sure of it. Who else could it be? And yet … not a single memory bubbled to the surface as she stared down at what should be the most familiar face in the world. Hot, stinging tears started to burn her eyes as she brought the picture closer, forced herself not to blink, trying desperately with every fibre of her being to remember something, _anything_ about her _own damn mother_.

Nothing.

A wild urge to smash the picture against the wall rose inside her, the same urge that had her screaming at Phillip earlier. But she knew in her heart she didn’t want to, not really. What would that accomplish anyway? So she just brought the picture to her chest, curled around it, and cried.

* * *

 

There was someone outside her door.

Melinda was curled up like a child in the bed, photo frame tucked under her chin and blankets kicked down to the bottom. She watched with unblinking eyes as a shadow came closer, hesitated, and then retreated. Each time the shadow came a little nearer to the handle but never close enough to be seen through the glass window. Melinda found the whole thing to be a strange combination of hilarious and terrifying, like watching an unknown boggy man too scared to launch a final attack. She had no idea who was outside that door, as she had a feeling neither Phillip or the doctor would have any hesitations about entering her room, and while the whole thing was an entertaining distraction from the turmoil in her own mind she felt that it should end sooner rather than later.

A walk to the door was much easier this time and with no fanfair or fuss she flung it wide open. “You know,” she said. “You could’ve knocked ten minutes ago.”

Outside was a young woman, barely more than twenty, who stood frozen, gaping at Melinda as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. She was a pretty girl, with softly curling hair that fell into her eyes, which were large and dark, like riverstones underwater. As she watched these eyes filled with tears that threatened to overspill at any moment and she raised a shaking hand to cover her mouth. “Oh my God …” she breathed, drinking in all of Melinda. “Oh my God, you’re really okay …?”

And just like that Melinda felt something ping at her heart. She wouldn’t call it memory, it wasn’t that clear. But it was a sense of knowing, an awareness, a familiar face. Without even realising she was doing it she reached out to touch the girl’s hair, her own fingers trembling as she brushed the strands away with the faintest touch so she could better examine her face. The girl’s eyes widened and she held herself perfectly still her hand dropping from her mouth as she tears started to drop from her eyes. “May?” she asked. “They said that you … May, do you know who I am?”

This question snapped Melinda out of whatever trance she’d been in, but she didn’t lower her hand. Rather, she pressed it to the side of the girl’s face and thumbed away her tears, almost like a mother would. “I … don’t remember,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” The girl’s face fell, heartbreak written all over it, and Melinda quickly raised her other hand the frame her face and continued with a firm, “But I want to. I really, really want to.”

The girl’s lips trembled as she forced them into a brave smile and Melinda felt her heart swell at this show of courage. She knew this girl, she could feel it. She wanted to know her again.

“Well,” she said, reaching up to gently grasp at Melinda’s wrists. “We’d better start at the beginning. Hello. I’m Skye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, they are always so wonderful to read! More to come soon --- and you said you liked angst, right?


	3. Chapter 3

Melinda and Skye sat on opposite ends of the bed, Melinda propped up by pillows against the wall and Skye cross legged at the foot, with a large collection of food between them. After their introductions Skye had revealed her bag of goodies that she had brought along as an excuse to go visit Melinda and now the two of them sat together eating a picnic style breakfast that consisted of oatmeal, orange juice and water, fruit salad and poptarts.

“I know this seems like a weird mix, but I really didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for,” explained Skye as she nibbled on a poptart. “So a bit of everything seemed the best way to go.”

Melinda smile and slowly ate her way through some of the fruit, not really feeling hungry at all but also aware that her body was craving nutrients that didn’t come from a tube. As she ate she could feel Skye’s eyes burning holes in her and every time she looked up the young woman continued to stare unashamedly as if Melinda were the best thing she’d ever seen. When Melinda raised an eyebrow at this Skye’s smile simply widened.

“Okay, I know I’m staring but I can’t help it!” she burst out. “You’re awake, you’re up and talking … seriously, so many people never thought this was going to happen. I mean - not me. I always knew you’d pull through, always, but … it was so uncertain for so long. I just can’t believe you’re here. After everything, it almost seems too good to be true.”

At this display of such open affection Melinda felt a lump form in her throat. Skye certainly seemed to care about her but the woman sitting before her wasn’t the Melinda May she knew. “It is too good to be true, Skye. I don’t remember anything. Or anyone. The world’s a blank to me.”

“But you seem to still be you,” insisted Skye. “Your … mannerisms, your personality, even the way you speak all seem normal. It’s just some fine details we’re missing out on.”

“Fine details? Like my name?” Melinda paused as a new thought hit her. “Or even my age?”

“You’re 51.”

“Good Lord.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just another thing about you that’s totally amazing,” grinned Skye.

Melinda thought about this for a moment as she ate a piece of mango, relishing in how her stomach started to shift and growl and slowly demand more food. “I just … I know things. But the world, the people in it … I feel like there’s nothing outside this room. I feel … alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” said Skye. “You beat incredible odds to even be awake right now and I know, with time and patience, you’ll get your memories back. I’ll help, we’ll all help.” She cleared her throat and looked down. “Maybe there’s a good side to this, in a weird way.”

“What good side?”

Skye looked her in the eyes. “You say you feel alone, but you’re just about to re-discover how many people truly love and care about you all over again. You’re surrounded by friends, May, and we won’t let you down.”

Melinda felt her heart swell and her stomach twist and turn with emotion and she had to stop eating her salad, too choked up to swallow. Skye seemed to understand that no more words were needed and for a while the two of them sat in silence until Melinda felt she had enough control over herself to resume speaking.

“So,” she began, her voice a little shaky but strong. “You are the third person I’ve ever met and so far, the best. Although, I don’t think I was overly … receptive to my first visitors.”

“Yeah, Simmons told me what happened,” nodded Skye, polishing off her poptart. “Looks like you’ve still got those kung-fu moves.” When Melinda merely looked confused she clarified. “You’re a martial arts expert and you’re good. Like, crazy good. You’d make Chuck Norris run screaming with only a look.”

“I don’t who Chuck Norris is, but you seem to think this is impressive so I’ll take it as a compliment,” said Melinda. She took a moment to look down at her hands, trying to imagine them in some sort of kung-fu position. Still nothing. “I hope I didn’t hurt her.”

“I think you just shocked her, really,” said Skye. “I mean, you’re an amazing fighter but you’re not aggressive. You don’t lash out for no reason. But don’t worry about Simmons, she knows you didn’t really mean it.”

Melinda paused a moment, picking over the last dredges of her breakfast as she thought over her next question. “And the other man, Phillip? Here was here, too.”

A strange look passed over Skye’s face but she quickly tried to hide it behind a lopsided smile. “ ‘Phillip’? Man, I’ve only ever heard Asgardians call him that.”

Melinda knew right then and there that Skye was keeping something from her about this man and so for the moment decided that she could find out what an ‘Asgardian’ was later. “Skye …” she began with a tone of warning. “Please don’t try to run around things. I need to know everything about the people in my life - it’s the only way I can get through this. So, who is he?”

Skye bit her lip before starting off with, “Well, he’s the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D -”

“Yes, I know that,” said Melinda, waving this information aside. “I meant, who is he to me?”

Skye hesitated and Melinda could practically see her scramble to put the words together in her head before she dared speak. “Oh boy …” she said under her breath before continuing in a louder voice. “Okay, uh, who is he to you? Well, he’s the person you trust most in the world, I know that for sure. You’ve known each other for longer than I’ve been alive and … well … you’re each other’s best friend.” She paused and huffed out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but this feels really weird talking about you two like this.”

“Why?”

Skye waved her hands in front of her. “Because you’re May and AC and you don’t talk about this sort of thing, certainly not with me! All this stuff I’m saying is just things I’ve worked out on my own, and really, you should be talking to him about this. He knows you better.”

Here Melinda bit her lip. “Well, last time I saw him I … wasn’t nice. I told him to get out and he hasn’t been back.”

“Ah, well, not true,” said Skye with a slightly guilty look. “He came back to check up on you, but you’d locked the door so …”

Melinda frowned. “Did he send you to see me?”

“No, I was already on my way over,” she said firmly. But then she gave a sheepish smile. “But he did ask for a progress report.”

‘Progress report’? That sounded rather … cold. Without thinking Melinda glanced over at the cot that was still sitting patiently in the corner. Skye’s eyes darted between the two of them and she made the connections herself.

“He’s only staying away because you asked him to,” she said softly. “Because he does pretty much everything you say - but don’t tell him I said that!” She tried to smile, but it quickly faded away. “The whole time you were here he barely left your side. We couldn’t get him to go to his own room so we just gave up and brought in the extra bed. He spoke to you every day and never once did he think you we’re going to get through this.” Skye stopped and swallowed. “It got to a point where him and me were the only ones who did think that.”

“I yelled at him,” was all Melinda could say in a small voice. Skye quickly reached across the bed to grasp at her hand.

“I don’t think he’ll hold a grudge,” she said, smiling.

Melinda squeezed her hand in thanks before plunging in and asking the hardest question. “Are we …? Is Phillip and I a …?”

Skye’s eyes widened. “ A what? Oh! No! Well,” she paused, eyes darting upward as she thought about it. “Well, not now.”

“But we have a past?”

“Well, yeah,” she dragged out the words. “I think we’ve already established that. But you two have more of a past than I ever really want to know about so … look, you just gotta just ask him.”

Melinda could tell that this whole conversation was making Skye really uncomfortable, and in a flash she realised that she was behaving like a child asked to tattle on a parent. Melinda suddenly realised that it was a bit unfair to be heaping all these questions on Skye and decided that she had a better chance of getting answers about her previous life from this enigmatic Phil. With a final squeeze she let go of Skye’s hand and wen to polish off the last of her salad.

“This is really good,” she muttered and Skye made a sound of agreement as she tore into another poptart.

As the very last bits of food were being cleared away Melinda started to notice that there was a lot more noise coming from the outside world by now. Thump and footsteps, phones beeping and doors slamming all mixed in with far off mumbled voices, but any words that were boing said were lost in the distance.

“Sounds like everyone’s waking up,” noted Skye, before starting guiltily as she realised what she said and looking up at Melinda apologetically. Melinda just grinned.

There was a tentative knock at the door and through the glass Melinda could see Doctor Simmons staring in, raising one hand to give a shy wave. Melinda quickly beckoned her inside and as she came in Skye got up off the bed.

“You’re looking a lot better,” said Simmons cheerfully, but Melinda noticed how she stayed well out of arms reach. She smiled and reached out a hand.

“Simmons, isn’t it?” she asked, and the woman nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The cheerful smile grew even wider and became much more sincere. “Oh, that doesn’t matter!” she said, waving a hand to dismiss it. “All that matter’s is that you’re up and functioning. Although, I would like to run a few more tests to just make sure how everything is running.”

“Physically, you mean?” asked Melinda with a raised eyebrow, and Simmons blushed. She really did wear her emotions on her sleeve, this one.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” announced Skye. She turned back to face Melinda, shifting her weight from one foot to another, suddenly nervous, before launching herself into Melinda’s arms and giving her a quick but firm hug. “I am so, so glad you’re back,” she whispered before she sped from the room.

Melinda watched her go with a smile, but then another thought occurred to her. Skye was probably going straight to Phillip to make her ‘progress report’. She just wondered how the man himself would react to that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #TripLives

As Skye walked through the twisted underground corridors she couldn’t keep the bounce out of her step or the smile off her face. She felt a wonderful sort of lightness that she hadn’t experienced in weeks, a lifting of sorrows and burdens that made her almost giddy with joy. The moment she saw Trip round the corner ahead of her she impulsively launched herself into his arms, laughing out loud at his exclamation of surprise and loving the way his arms quickly wrapped around her, too.

“Whoa, ease up there, girl! What are you trying to do, give me a heart-attack?” Skye simply laughed again, knowing that there was no real anger in his words and the moment she pulled back she could see he was smiling too, albeit a little confused.

“May’s awake!” she announced, as if this were the most important information in the universe. However, Trip’s smile faded somewhat.

“Yeah, I heard that. I also heard there were some complications, too.”

Skye swallowed, a dark cloud passing swiftly over her buoyant mood. “So is everyone already talking about that, then?”

Trip shrugged and brought up his hands to rub at her shoulders. “It’s a small base and we’re all mad for gossip here.” He looked closer at Skye’s face. “So, it’s true then?”

Skye sighed. “She doesn’t remember anything, Trip. I mean, she’s still her, she still acts exactly like the old May, she’s just sort of … blank. And I just had the most insane conversation trying explain how she and Coulson know each other.”

“Damn,” said Trip sympathetically. “Where is the man, anyway? After everything don’t you find it a bit strange that, now she’s awake, he’s just gone?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me anything, just shut himself up in his office and told me to go check on May,” said Skye. “But she told me she yelled at him, told him to stay away.”

“And he’s doing what he’s told,” nodded Trip. “Must be hard for him, really. Waiting all this time for her to wake up and when she does she doesn’t even know who he is.”

“God, this is so messed up,” sighed Skye, throwing her head back, and Trip gave her shoulders a quick squeeze to bring her eyes back to him.

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “But we’ll get through this, you know it, girl. See, there’s that smile again,” he grinned as she beamed up at him. “And let me tell you, I’ve missed seeing that these past few weeks.”

“Well, it’s back and here to stay,” she said. “But I gotta go and brief Coulson.”

“Do what you gotta do,” said Trip and the two of them separated and continued down opposite ends of the corridor.

However, when she reached the door to this office she hesitated. She didn’t know what she’d find when she went through this door and that thought alone was enough to scare her. There had been very few stable features in her life but Phil Coulson had quickly become something of a bedrock for her, a constant, reliable presence, a straight forward man with a quiet manner in a grey suit. If she’d been told more than a year ago that such a man would become the most trusted person in her life she would’ve laughed out loud at such an absurd notion. When she’d first met him he was the very embodiment of the ‘scary men in suits’ that she’d come to despise through her work as a hacker with the Rising Tide, someone who hide the truth and conducted crazy missions away from the public eye. Well … okay, she wasn’t too far off with all of that, but she had totally misjudged the man himself. He was a good guy, in every sense of the word, and he didn’t hide how much he valued Skye and her input to the team, something no-one had really done before.

But after the explosion she had witnessed a different side to Coulson and had seen him at such a low that she almost didn’t recognise him. She knew he blamed himself for what happened - an unfair conclusion, she thought - and had drained himself with the stress and worry of waiting for May to recover. Skye knew he was a man who planned things meticulously and followed through with decisive action and so to be told that all he could do to help May was to ‘watch and wait’ must’ve been the worst torture he’d ever endured. And now May was back - but at the same time, not really. She was an echo of her former self and while Skye considered this to be a victory she wasn’t sure how Coulson would deal with the most important person in his life suddenly being unable to even recognise him. She was scared to go through the door because she didn’t know how she was going to deal with the stranger inside.

Skye set her jaw. Well, she couldn’t very well creep outside his office all day, and she’d never been shy to enter before. So with a perfunctory knock she barged in, steeled to face whatever was there.

And found a perfectly normal Coulson.

Skye had to blink a few times to make sure it was all real, not because it was terribly strange but because it was all so _normal_. After weeks of being a shut up, empty room, Coulson was back, all dressed up in his suit, tie and shined shoes, staring down at a dossier in one hand as he walked across the room to access the filing cabinet on the far side. He paused as she barged in and cooly raised his eyebrows in an unspoken enquiry. If Skye had seen the scene once, she’d seen it a thousand times and out of habit quickly closed the door and put her hands behind her back as if she were about to give a report on some field operation rather than tell him how the woman he trusted more than anyone in the world was now sitting alone in a hospitable room on the other side of the base.

“You look … well,” she finally said.

“I had a shower,” was all he replied as he continued across the room and filed the report, barely ever looking at her. Skye found this whole display very off-putting, as if she were watching a robot version of Coulson who was preforming all his duties without any thought, but she didn’t feel inclined to yell at him and make him pay attention to her. She knew he was dealing with things in his own way and just waited until he was ready to hear whatever news she had. He spent more time than needed sorting out the files and with his back to her she couldn’t quite get a read on him, but when he could put it off any longer he turned to face her.

His face was blank and his arms hung by his sides, fingers twitching. Finally he asked, “How is she?”

“She’s okay,” said Skye, trying her best to be reassuring. “She’s up and walking about, slowly though, and she can’t stand for too long but that’s to be expected. And she’s eating, which is a good sign.”

Coulson nodded, lips pressed thin. “But?”

Skye drew in a deep breath. “But … her memory is gone. Completely. She knows the days of the week, months of the year, but she doesn't have any idea who she is.” She paused and brought her hands in front of her so she could twist her fingers together, a nervous habit. “She didn’t even recognise her own mother.”

Coulson nodded and walked back to his desk, sorting through more folders that needed to be filed away, and Skye bit at the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something she might later regret. Instead, she said, “May wants to see you.”

Coulson head snapped up in surprise. “What? Why?”

“She told me she yelled at you,” began Skye slowly, and as she mentioned this Coulson ducked his head and went back to his papers. As far as Skye could tell he was making no real progress with the mess on his desk. “And she also feels pretty bad about it. She’s already figured out it was you who stayed at her side all this time,” Again, Coulson looked up. “Which lead to some pretty weird questions that I really didn’t enjoy having to answer.”

“What questions?” asked Coulson, his filing mission forgotten.

“I’m not repeating them,” said Skye with a fixed stare. “You’re going to have to go over and talk to her yourself.” She paused and then muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, “I can’t believe you’re not over there right now.”

“Well, I would be,” said Coulson, looking a little angry at her subtle jab. “But last time I was there … well, lets just say I did more harm than good. Our priority should be May and her recovery, and I’m not going to be a hindrance to that.”

“My priority is May,” stressed Skye. “Which is why I’ve come to the best person on base who could possibly help her. You know her better than anyone and if we’re to have any chance of bringing back her memories, you’re our best hope.”

For some strange reason at the mention of ‘bringing back her memories’ Coulson suddenly turned and stalked off behind his desk, obviously hiding his face before he turned back to her, stone cold as before. For a moment the two of them stared at each other in a quick battle of wills before Coulson sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I’ll go see her.”

“Now?”

“Soon.”

Skye’s mouth twisted in annoyance but she didn’t press, knowing that this was the best she was going to get, and with a final nod left Coulson to his pseudo filing.

But for all that she couldn’t really be angry with him. She had no idea how was he was feeling right now, but every time she thought of him facing the person he’d known most of his life and having that person outright reject him, she felt the swift sting of sympathy stab at her heart and sent out a little prayer that everything would work itself out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on tight folks, Philinda next chapter


	5. Chapter 5

Phil Coulson was a ragged mess, but at least he didn’t look it. Shirt tucked, tie straightened, suit jacket buttoned. After living in sweats for so long his unofficial uniform had a tight restrictiveness to it that he welcomed, something wonderfully familiar at a time in his life where nothing else was. The past few weeks had been a blur of exhaustion, pain, over-thinking and nearly extinguished hope, a whirlwind of noise and unbearable silence and now everything seemed to have stopped, or slowed down, or maybe just returned to normal speed. But still, nothing made a whole lot of sense and in his inability to control any of it he’d given up and focused on controlling himself.

When he’d left Melinda’s room for the first time in what felt like forever he’d had to fight the overwhelming desire to punch something. Or scream. Or even to just sit down and cry like a child. Logically, a small part of his brain chided him over such useless thoughts and instead of flying completely off the handle he had instead swung firmly in the opposite direction. He’d reverted back to his old morning habits of showering, shaving and dressing just as he had done for decades. His movements, however, were slow, methodical and thoughtless, and the simple routine that he had perfected over the years took much longer to complete this time than any other time he could remember.

Remember. She didn’t remember him, she didn’t remember anything. But he did. As he cleaned himself up his brain was a fuzzy mess of white noise but every time he paused, or caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, memory would flare and sharpen in his mind’s eye until all he saw was her. Imagines of when she was that filthy, broken creature he had pulled out of the rubble, something he could barely even recognise as May. Of how small and still she’d looked in that hospital bed. How he had been forced to watch her slowly waste away and become scarily thin, her cheekbones and ribcage becoming all too prominent. Of how, two weeks into her coma, she had seized and thrashed about as she’d dragged her breathing tube out of her own lungs while still completely unconscious and unaware of her actions. Trip had needed to hold him back as Simmons explained, through tears she only just held in check, that this was not only a normal thing, but a positive development in coma patients. Phil could barely believe that May gagging and choking as she removed the one thing that had been keeping her alive these past few weeks was a good thing, but once the horror of the moment had passed she had slept quietly, breathing on her own for the first time in weeks.

He kept remembering the blank look in her eyes as she stared up at him mistrustfully. Of how, even in her current state, she was still able to put two and two together and read him as if he were an open book.

_“You’re a man wracked with guilt.”_

But most of all he kept remembering how she had cried, had screamed, had clutched at her hair and rocked back and forth while he stood off on the other side of the room, absolutely useless, a stuttering blob that had caused her all this pain. She had told him to leave and he had almost run from the room, his head hot and his knees shaking and with such a pain in his gut he thought he was going to be physically ill.

And he absolutely hated himself for this.

What right did he have to feel pain, to feel grief? He wasn’t the injured party. He wasn’t the one laid up in intensive care with the very essence of himself having been stripped away. Hell, he was the one responsible for all this. He should be fixing this situation, somehow. He should be doing something, not just wallowing away in self pity. He had to do something. He was a screwed up ball of energy just waiting to be converted into action but when it became apparent that there was nothing to be done, or at least, nothing he could do, he had shut himself up in his office and after only the briefest word with Skye had decided to stay there until further notice.

And now he’d received his marching orders from Skye, not so much in words but more of a result of the long glares and pointed silences. But he was afraid. Here in the privacy and security of his office he could admit that at least to himself. He was terrified of who he’d find sitting in May’s spot. He had been dozing by her bedside when she’d woken up last night, his elbow on her bed and his head propped up as he’d idly thought about rolling out the cot. He’d known something was wrong when he’d gone to touch her and she’d shied away as if he’d frightened her, and by the time Simmons was in the room he’d already started to suspect the worst. After he’d left, showered, and returned to his office he had immediately started digging through all the data in Fury’s Toolbox, looking for some sort of miracle drug that might be hidden away on some secret base, researching everything he could about memory loss and how to reverse it. The results had not been promising. Everything he found had basically stated that in all but the rarest of cases memory loss was a permanent thing and after a few hours he couldn’t stand it any more and had decided to organise his filing instead. The actions had been useless but soothing in their mundane way and that was how Skye had found him a few hours later.

It had been twenty minutes since she had told him to go see May and left, but he was still shut away, still unwilling to make the short walk into the unknown. He knew he couldn’t put it off forever and eventually pulled his jacket straight - although it hadn’t been out of line - and marched out of the door like a man marching to the firing squad.

The walk to May’s room was more stressful than even he’d anticipated. He knew this was the first time he’d properly been seen around the base since the incident and also knew that everyone who was now staring and trying their best to keep their whispers hidden all knew that about May and her current condition. His own absence from her side, the first time he’d gone since the whole thing began, probably confirmed it for a lot of people and while he passed many familiar faces they all thankfully knew better than to try and talk to him.

Soon, all too soon, he was at her door. His stomach started clamping and his hands began to sweat as if he were a Level One agent on his first assignment and once again he mentally slapped himself up the side of the head. He had no right to be feeling any of this and he struggled to keep his emotions in check. Or at the very least, he wanted to keep his emotions off his face. With a dry mouth his raised his fist and gave a firm knock.

“Come in!” Came the immediate reply and at the sound of May’s clear, ringing voice Phil felt his heart skip a beat. _Stupid, stupid man, get a grip …_

He pushed the door open, stepped inside and closed it behind him, keeping his twitching hands at his side and struggling not to fold them across his chest, a nervous tick he was well aware of. But when he finally saw Melinda all cognitive thought left his head.

She was sitting cross legged in the middle of the freshly made bed, now dressed in her own dark clothes rather than the hospital gown she’d been clad in before. She was in casual slacks and a loose fitting shirt with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, giving Phil a wonderful view of her profile which, while still thin, was more vibrant than it had been in weeks. She hadn’t looked up just yet, too focused on the iPad she cradled in her lap as she stared at whatever pictures went flying past at the movement of her index finger. As he closed the door she looked up and Phil felt another rush sweep across his body. Her face was fresh and clean and while there were deep circles under them her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were once again open and shining with light and life. In the deepest of nights during those three weeks, when he was all alone in his vigil next to May’s bed, there had been times when even he, in the depths of his own despair, was certain that he’d never see those eyes again. When all alone he’d cried and begged and prayed for her to just wake up, just wake up and just look at him once more. Those were moments he never told anyone about, and he would probably take them to his grave.

Then she blinked and frowned, and in a simple sentence shattered his world. “It’s Philip, isn’t it?”

He felt his heart plummet, but he kept his face steady. “Yes. But, most people just call me Phil.”

Melinda nodded and straightened, putting the iPad off to one side. “Yeah, sorry. Um … do you want to sit?”

“I’m okay.” In truth, he wasn’t sure he could move just yet.

She nodded again, still staring up at him in the strangest way. Phil could almost feel her eyes tracing his face and the lines of his body, and though he felt the back of his neck get hot under such scrutiny he made no move to tear his own eyes away from her face. She was awake, she was alive. It was a miracle. It was some sort of nightmare. After a few moments she dropped her gaze and gave a nervous little laugh.

“God, this is so weird,” she said, almost to herself. She sighed and pulled her shoulders up before she looked at him again. “I don’t where to start. With an apology, probably.”

“No,” said Phil straight away. “You have nothing to apologise for. I was completely in the wrong. I shouldn’t have bombarded you when you’d just woken up from such a traumatic situation.”

“I didn’t yell at you because of anything you said,” said Melinda. “I struck out because I was angry and scared, and you were the closet thing I could attack. I don’t know you,” Another stab at his heart. “But no-one deserves to have such harsh words thrown at them. That was wrong, and I am truly sorry.” She paused for a second, then tilted her head to one side to give him a mildly cheeky look. “But others seem to agree about one thing. Apparently, you do talk a lot.”

Oh God, she seemed just like her old self. Her mannerisms and her gentle teasing was all so distinctly Melinda that for a moment he was unable to answer. He nodded, swallowed, and folded his arms in front of him.

After it became clear that he wasn’t going to pick up the thread of conversation any time soon Melinda started talking again. “Skye’s probably told you everything by now, so you know that I know nothing about myself, and yet I know that you know everything about me.”

“Well … not everything …”

She rolled her eyes and he felt another little shock at how ‘May-like’ she still was. “Well, I’m guessing you know a lot. And, I have to ask …” Here she hesitated and a quick glance at the cot that was still tucked away in the corner had Phil guessing at what the next question would be. He felt sick as he braced himself for it. “Well, I figured out for myself, and both Skye and Doctor Simmons confirmed that you’ve been sleeping in the room with me. Skye told me you barely left my side the entire time.”

Phil swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Melinda frowned and stared beseechingly up at him. “I just have to ask - why?”

“Why?”

“Yes,” she said. She folded her own arms at this point, unconsciously mirroring him. “Are we … intimate?”

 _Oh, good God._ “No,” he said softly. “We have been, many years ago but … no. Not now.”

“Why not?”

These questions were some of the most difficult in both their lives and the fact that she was asking them with such wide-eyed innocence only served to remind him of how much of Melinda was missing. He tried his best to continue. “What we had was … well, it was more the result of circumstance than anything, really. We were young, fresh out of the Academy and more than ready for everything the world had to throw at us. Our jobs make relationships … difficult. Our …” Fling? Affair? Dalliance? “Our moment was fleeting, but our friendship has remained. I do know you, Melinda, and you know me better than anyone else on earth. I still can’t think of someone I trust more than you, even after all these years.”

“Years,” echoed Melinda with a look of wonder on her face. When she glanced back up at him it seemed like the was looking into his very soul. “We must mean a lot to each other, then?”

Phil felt his heart thud wildly in his chest as she used those words that were so similar to what she had said all that time ago on the Bus and for a split second he thought that perhaps she’d recalled something. But the second after had him crashing back down to reality as he saw this was just turn of phrase, just a set of meaningless words she’d happened say. He tried hard to crush his disappointment. “We do,” he said, his voice barely a whisper and he quickly cleared his throat to say, much clearer, “Yeah, we do.”

She must’ve seen something in his eyes at that moment because she quickly looked away, gave a slight cough, and picked up the iPad to try and distract them both. “Skye came back just before you did with this, saying that it was mine and she’d hacked in past my password so I could use it, see if anything could help jog my memory.” She showed Phil the screen, where he could see a group of folders were on display. “I then asked her why on earth she would know how to hack into anything and she laughed and said it was something to do with her job.” Melinda gave another nervous giggle. “So, I know kung-fu and Skye’s a hacker. This all sounds a little but like a spy novel to me.” At the look on Phil’s face her laughed froze. “Hold on, wait. Am I a spy?”

Phil drew in a long breath and rocked on his heels. “You know what? I think I’m going to take that seat now. This is … going to take a while.”

Over the next few hours he hashed out the broad outline of her life, trying his best to remain as detached and professional as possible and knowing by the slight glances and wondering looks she sometimes shot him that he wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped. He spoke of her mother - no, she wasn’t aware that Melinda had been in a coma. Why? Security, secrets to be kept. Melinda didn’t seem to agree with this at all, but didn’t press the issue just yet. She came across a picture of her and Andrew Garner, smiling, entwined in each other’s arms. She jolted in surprise when he’d reveal that was her ex-husband. Did he know about her condition? No. Had it ended badly? No, it had just gone cold in the end and they’d gone their separate ways. Did they still talk? Not … really … well, she probably wouldn’t tell Phil even if they did.

She asked a lot about Skye and seemed to really like her, something Phil was extremely grateful for. He told her about Skye and Trip, Simmons and Fitz, Bobbie and Mack. She asked about Lola, he’d mentioned a Lola before. He’d squirmed and blushed and finally admitted that Lola was the name of his Corvette, and as she threw her head back and laughed at this revelation he decided it was worth his embarrassment.

Their conversation wasn’t without it’s awkward pauses, verbal trip ups and agonising, unspoken frustration on Melinda’s behalf as she struggled to catch even a glimpse of her former life. Phil wanted to help, wanted to be more than just a poorly made back up copy of her memories, but could see that his words were all he could offer. He wanted so badly to reach out to her, to sit on the bed next to her and not just in the chair to the side, to brush those fly away strands from her face and gently pull her into his arms. But she made no move, no sign that she wanted him anywhere near her, and spent most of the time wrapped up in the images that flashed across her iPad, almost to the point where Phil felt like she forgot he was even in the room she was so focused on trying to rebuild her mind. Words flittered delicately between the two of them like spiders webs that could be blown away by a sudden wind and by the time Simmons came in with a tray and announced that it was already lunch time the two of them where emotionally rung out.

“So,” said Simmons, her smile as cheerful as ever. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” said Melinda simply, picking at her sandwich. Phil noted that Simmons had brought enough food for two but just at that moment he didn’t feel able to stomach anything, and so ignored the tray.

“It’s to be expected, really,” said Simmons in a sympathetic voice. “And I would consider it a good thing if you took a nap after lunch.”

Melinda’s head jerked up at this and she frowned. “A nap? Haven’t I slept long enough?”

“Well, you were unconscious, not asleep,” clarified Simmons, her hands twisting in front of her. “And your body has been through significant trauma.” She paused and squinted at May. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel tired?”

For a moment Melinda looked as if she might argue, but on second thoughts shrugged one shoulder and stuffed more sandwich into her mouth.

“I’ll leave you to your lunch then,” said Phil, standing and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, you’re not going to stay?” asked Simmons.

“No, not hungry,” he said, a little too quickly. He glanced at Melinda and saw a knowing look in her eye so hastily moved on. “This was … good, wasn’t it?” He asked, unsure. “Do you want to do this again?”

Melinda swallowed her sandwich and nodded. “Oh, definitely,” she said. “Because I have a feeling you’ve left some things out.”

“Plenty,” answered Phil smoothly, to both women’s surprise. “But then again, there’s a lot of history to cover.” He nodded once more and left.

In no time at all he found himself back in his office, but if he’d been asked to recall the details of his journey back he would’ve have been able to tell you a thing. He sat himself behind his desk and picked up the nearest file, trying with all his might to look it over. Soon though, he was no longer concentrating on the file and rather on how his hand that was holding it was trembling. He dropped the paper, propped his elbows on the desk, put his face in his hands and started to breath deep and even, trying with all his might to stop the shaking that was threatening to take over his entire body.

 _She’s okay_ , he kept thinking to himself. _She’s okay, she’s awake. She’s awake and she’s alive and she’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay._

But _he_ wasn’t okay. He thought he’d be able to do it, be able to help her, but he knew now that this was going to be a torture even worse than the past few weeks. He had dreamed of this day, longed for the moment Melinda would awaken and he’d finally be able to say to her face what he’d been whispering in the dark to her unconscious form, but now everything was a horrible kaleidoscope of blank holes and missing moments, with nothing in his life more solid than shadows and shapes.

Sitting at her bedside all those weeks he’d had an epiphany. Well, more of an acknowledgement of something he’d been well aware of for years but was never brave enough to face. He loved her. He _loved_ her. He was completely, utterly, in love with Melinda Qiaolian May. Every night, when the base became absolutely silent and the whole universe shrank down to nothing more than their little room, he’d clutched at her hand whispered those three words so very softly over and over again, promising her he’d tell her when she woke up, promising that he would never be such a coward about this thing that was between them again. He loved her and every night he prayed that it wasn’t too late. He prayed for her to wake up.

And now she was awake and he was nothing more than a stranger to her. He wanted to cry, but he didn’t feel as though he had the right. He wanted to help her, but he feared that in doing so he might break his soul.

More than anything he wanted Melinda and was in absolute agony knowing that, even she was just across the base, she was now further beyond his reach than she’d ever been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind reviews and kudos!! I found this chapter a bit difficult to write, so it got a little long winded. Hope you enjoyed it ... but at the same time, kinda hope I made you upset. A little bit?


	6. Chapter 6

_She dreamed._

_Indistinct shapes and long corridors, dark shadows and a whole host of faceless people who moved and bustled around her, but never touched her, passing through her as insubstantial as ghosts. She felt lost and afraid, trapped underground in a whirl of darkness._

_The dream shifted._

_She was alone. No, she wasn’t. She was standing in front of a man, tall, faceless. He didn’t say a word just took hold of her hands, pulled her close, and started to sway gently back and forth. All at once she started to feel hot and weightless and was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to bury her head in his chest and shelter in his arms as if she were his missing piece, a lover home from a war. But then she looked up and his face was nothing more than a dark smudge, a shadow that hung impossibly far above her and a swooping, cold feeling entered her gut. She didn’t know him. She knew him. She continued to sway with this figure and all she could feel was confusion and a gnawing sense of dread. Suddenly he spoke._

_“Just try and remember the steps.”_

Melinda snapped awake to a dry mouth and a crick in her neck. With a groan she rolled over and rubbed at her eyes, desperately trying to remember the details of her dream. But the more she focused on them the quicker they disappeared and any effort to keep them in her mind was like trying to hold the ocean tide from receding back. By the time she was fully awake and sitting up all memory of the dream was gone leaving only the feeling of loss and disquiet behind.

The nap itself had been far from the restful break Doctor Simmons seemed to think it would be and with the added hangover of an unsettling dream Melinda was more than a little cranky. She stretched and snatched at a bottle of water, taking a sip while glancing at the clock that Skye had brought to her room at her request. She’d only been asleep for an hour but that was more than enough and already she was feeling a caged restlessness. For a second she thought about opening the iPad again and sifting through the endless photos but the mere idea made her tired all over again. She and Phillip - Phil - had spent hours going through all that information and she was still none the wiser about anything in her life up until yesterday. It had been the most unpleasant thing, to look at photos of herself but be unable to even recognise her own face in many instances let alone any of those situations she’d been captured in, and even though Phil helpful when it came to filling in those blanks his presence was something that made Melinda somewhat uncomfortable. Why that was, she couldn’t say, but he had somehow been both a mix of non-threatening and unsettling when he was talking to her. He didn’t frighten her nor did he say anything inappropriate. His voice never really changed as he carefully answer all her questions and this time, without a pounding headache, Melinda was able to appreciate his soft, even tones and had happily listening along to her new found narrator of her life. He had seemed calm, almost docile as they’d talked but every now and then when she sneaked a peak out the corner of her eye at him sitting beside her she’d seen flashes of something that made her stomach turn over.

He’d been sitting in the chair next to her bed, bent forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped together. While he’d looked at her - stared at her, really - when he’d first entered the room, his head had become more and more bowed as the hours dripped past until he was staring at the floor more often than at her face. It was then that she was able to observe him with frequent little glances and what she saw made her sick with pity.

This man was absolutely heartbroken. He hid it well behind his polite manner and his office man look, but she was sure that she wasn’t just imagining it. She wasn’t imagining those red-rimmed eyes or his slumped stance, or the way any of his little smiles fell swiftly off his face the moment he thought she wasn’t watching, and she knew exactly what was causing this. Her. Or, to be more accurate, her condition. He’d explained their relationship in a rather cool way but she could already tell that he cared for her a great deal, and had done so for many years. He said they weren’t lovers, that they hadn’t been together for years and yet …

This is what made her so uneasy around him. She pitied him. She was so very sorry for this man, this stranger, who seemed to be having as hard a time as her with the whole situation, no matter how well he hid it. And that’s what made her so uneasy. She pitied a stranger who felt bad about her condition! How crazy was that? She was the patient, she was the injured party, and she didn’t doubt that it really was his decisions that lead to her state. An angry, spiteful side rose up in her, whispering hatefully that he should suffer, he should be miserable for all the pain he’d caused her … but she just couldn’t fan those flames. They were both in pain, but the difference was everyone was focused on Melinda’s and Phil was left completely alone in his.

She was shocked to feel a sharp desire to comfort him rise up within her. When he was in the room with her she had kept her distance neither wanting or needing physical contact with this buttoned up man, although she felt that this was more her nature than anything Phil might’ve done. However, as she reflected on their little memory session and she thought more and more about how sad he’d looked, she just wanted to reach out to him, pull him close and …

She groaned and rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes. This was ridicules! She didn’t know him! But … she did. She used to. Her mind was going around in circle and because of her damned lack of memory, it didn’t have far to go. Well, her mind might be stuck but her body wasn’t anymore and, despite or perhaps in spite of Simmons’ warnings about not exerting herself, she swung her legs off her bed and walked bare-footed out of her tiny little room and into the massive world around her.

She cracked the door open an inch and peaked out into the corridor like a naughty child before she realised exactly what she was doing and, with an eye roll at her own silly behaviour, swung the door wide and marched out bold as brass. It was a shame, then, that this big display of independence was for nothing, as there was no-one in the corridor to impress. The hallway stretched out long and far in both directions that looked very similar and so, with a half shrug of one shoulder, Melinda turned left and started walking.

The place was a freaking maze. An underground maze, if the lack of any natural lighting was anything to go by. It seemed rather subdued but there was still the buzz of voices and activity to be heard through the walls. It didn’t take long for Melinda to find more people as she peered into rooms and passed strangers in lab coats and casual wear who were also walking through the halls. It also didn’t take long for her to realise that they were all staring. At her. And not the loving, open looks she received from Skye or even the sad stares from Phil but … well, they seemed shocked. There were mouths dropping and people gasping and more than a few whispers trickled into her her ears.

“Oh my God, is that really …?”

“I thought she just woke up yesterday? How is she walking around?”

“How in the hell …?”

“I thought she … wasn’t well.”

“Well, that’s the Goddamned Cavalry for you.”

It was as if she’d been slapped. Suddenly Melinda felt cold and dizzy and a roaring rush of white noise filled her ears. Her vision clouded for a second and she had to reach out a hand to steady herself against the nearest wall. Vaguely she was aware of a flurry of movement all around her as people panicked and ran to … she didn’t know. Get help? Get away? She didn’t care. She just focused on her breathing and tried with all her strength not to black out right there in the hallway while all around her the people dissolved into nothing more than dark, indistinct shapes. She was surrounded by strangers who all moved and bustled around her but never touched her …

“Melinda!”

There were suddenly warm, solid hands on her, one at her waist and one cupping the side of her face. Slowly she came back into herself as she let go of the wall and struggled to focus on whoever was in front of her. It was a man, tall, but his face … she blinked, her eyes strained and very slowly the shadowed shape above her cleared and sharpened.

“Phil …” she breathed, and then there was nothing more.

_She dreamed._

_She was alone and high, high above the world, floating along over tiny countries and meaningless continents. She loved it. She felt so free and calm and … happy._

_“Well, that’s the Goddamned Cavalry for you.”_

_Suddenly she was falling and there was fire and smoke and she couldn’t breath, she couldn’t breath and there were scream and more faceless figures and -_

She awoke in a cold sweat, blinked blearily and was not surprised to find tears in her eyes, though she quickly dashed them away. It was a dream, a strange, indistinct … dammit. It was gone. Again. She looked around with half hooded eyes and was instantly aware of two things. First, enough time had passed for her to now be ravenously hungry and second, she was most definitely not in her hospital bed. This bed she was tucked into was softer, larger and had clearly been used by someone else before her. It was rumpled and the pillow was lumpy but the thing that got her was that there was a scent to the sheets that was … she couldn’t put a word to it. It was so familiar and it made her want to cry, to laugh, to curl up in these soft sheets and never move again. It reminded her a strange things like a grey sky and an open road, fire and flowers and flying. It made her feel … safe. She could’ve quite happily have rolled over and gone back to sleep but she knew this wasn’t an option. She already had a sneaking feeling who’s bed this was and, even though she had barely opened her eyes yet, she could tell that someone else was also in the room. So with an internal sigh she rolled over to face the rest of the small room and the somewhat angry man sitting off in the corner, suit jacket off, arms folded tightly.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” asked Phil.

“I was bored,” she said, trying her best not to sound like a sullen teenager and failing miserably.

“Bored?” said Phil incredulously. “You woke up from a coma this morning! It’s only just on seven in the evening now, and you felt like jeopardising your recovery because you were bored?”

Yes, she knew she acted rashly but for some reason she felt like being petulant. “Don’t be mean to me, I’m sick.”

Phil’s eyebrows shot up and she almost laughed at the look of disbelief on his face. “Yes,” he managed to say after a bit. “Yes, you are sick, which is why you fainted in the hallway a few hours ago!”

As he said that memory came flooding back. _“Well, that’s the Goddamned Cavalry for you.”_ Something of her fear must’ve shown on her face because in a moment the anger seemed to drain out of Phil and instead he just looked concerned.

“Melinda?” he said. “What is it?”

For some reason she couldn’t look at him and turned to focus on the ceiling. “I heard someone say ‘The Cavalry’ … and for some reason it made me feel …” Sick. Horrified. Scared. Broken. All these words flittered through her mind but none of them really seemed to hold proper gravitas for what she was trying to convey. She gave a helpless shrug and turned back to Phil. He still had his arms folded but he now looked a little frightened. He knew. He knew why she’d had such a strong reaction to such seemingly meaningless words.

She waited for him to speak. He didn’t. The silence stretched on until finally she caved, although she really didn’t like having to ask for her own history. “What does it mean?”

To her shock he just quietly answered, “I don’t think you’re strong enough to know yet.”

Rage swiftly filled her and the fact that she wasn’t able to leap out of the bed and slap the man silly only set to further remind her of her body’s weakened state. “How dare you -?”

He spoke over the top of her. “You fainted after a short stroll, you’re not ready yet.”

“You can’t keep things from me!”

“Oh, I can and I will,” he said flatly and Melinda felt her hands curl into fists. He noticed and even managed to smile a little, the bastard. “The day you can beat me senseless, like I know you want to, is the day I tell you everything.”

In a fit of anger Melinda swiftly sat up to give him a real piece of her mind - and then realised that this was not the best decision to make. Her hand flew to her temple as another wave of dizziness threatened to once again overtake her and in a flash Phil was at her side, though he didn’t touch her, just had his hands hover close by as if he was unsure if she even wanted his help. Without thinking Melinda reached out her free hand and grabbed at one of his, his fingers quickly threading through hers. After a few deep breaths the faintness quickly passed but for some reason Melinda was reluctant to release his hand, and she even kept her head down and feigned sickness so she could closer observe it. All her anger evaporated and reason slowly made itself known, and she glanced at Phil’s face. Their argument was now all but forgotten and he crouched by her, eyes wide and worried and so full of … she quickly returned her gaze to his hand, still reluctant to let go. This was the first time she had touched him, really touched him out of her own vocation and it made her feel …

Slowly she ran her smaller fingers over his much larger ones, delighting in the way her darker skin compared to his. His hand was soft yet hard, calloused without being gnarled and she slowly untangled her fingers from his so she could better trace each one of his knuckles. Unthinkingly she took his one hand in both of her and first tracked her fingers over the back of his hand before turning it over so she could trace the lines on his palm, leaving light little touches that made his fingers twitch. It was only when she reached the inside of his wrist that he spoke.

“Melinda …”

His voice was raw and strained, and she quickly let go of his hand like it was red coals. What the hell had she been doing? She was hungry and tired and not thinking properly, that was all, and this bed and this scent and this man and everything … it was all getting too complicated for her. She risked a look at his face and felt her heart drop a little. He no longer seemed angry he just seemed … lost. He cleared his throat and back away from the bed, taking care not to look at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice tiny. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Phil nodded, mouth tight, eyes averted. “I’ll go get Simmons.”

“No, please don’t!” she said, although she wasn’t sure why. “Please just …”

“What?”

A million requests swiftly ran through her mind. What is ‘The Cavalry’, what is this base, why must we hid, why must there be secrets about myself? And for the first time a new question popped into her head. They had well established who Phil Coulson was to her, but for the first time she wondered … who exactly was Melinda May to him?

She wanted to say a thousand things and so she just said one. “Have dinner with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, but I really want more canon May backstory before I run off with my own fanon. Can't wait!!
> 
> Thankyou all once again for your lovely reviews, I adore each one of you for taking the time to write something so nice and thoughtful!


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner. He could do dinner. He was a decent enough cook and his room at the Playground was one of the few that actually had cooking facilities, so at least he didn’t need to sneak into the mess and steal some food for the two of them. It was a simple kitchen space but it had a cooktop and sink and all the basic necessities to make a meal, and he could do wonders with basic. Chopping, boiling, frying, it was all familiar steps to a long learned dance that he could do in his sleep, so his attention wasn’t really focused on the food, but on the woman who was currently wandering around his apartment.

Despite telling her to remain in bed she had quietly slipped out and started exploring his living quarters about ten minutes ago. He had his back to her so she probably thought he didn’t know, but as always he was hyper aware of her presence and could pinpoint her exact location without even turning his head. At first she’d crept across the carpet towards a tall bookshelf, where most of the room was in fact not taken up with books, but with various artefacts and collectibles. She picked something up and made a little noise that sounded like suppressed laughter, something that made Phil smile down into the cooktop. He’d long ago come to terms with his magpie like desires and had passed any point of shame that would normally be associated with such a cliched habit.

_“A secret agent obsessed with low-tech spy gear? Really?”_

Phil swallowed and and with a slightly shaking hand checked to make sure the vegetables weren’t becoming waterlogged. Melinda’s voice, much younger and more lively than anything she’d used in recent memory had just whispered in his ear, taking him back to their training days. The first time he’d invited her back to his room when they were still in the Academy he’d made a valiant attempt to hide his collection, simplistic little clutter as opposed to what he had now, but Melinda had quickly barged in and made him reveal what was, at the time, a rather secret side of himself. And she had laughed. Not cruelly or mockingly, but still … she’d seen this new part of him and laughed, and the sound had cut right through him. Something must’ve shown on his face because when she’d turned back to him her smile faltered and faded as she quickly became serious again.

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …”_

_“No, no, it’s fine … it’s just a bunch of stupid stuff, really …”_

_“It’s not stupid.”_

_Phil had just shrugged and looked at the ground, mentally kicking himself for … for what, he didn’t know. For being himself? He knew how sad this must look but really, he wouldn’t give any of it up or change any bit of himself for anyone. He liked himself and if Melinda didn’t, well …_

_He’d nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt small, strong fingers wind through his and looked up to find Melinda May so very, very close to him, holding his hand. She smiled softly and held something up for him to see - his Captain America trading card, sealed and protected in a plastic wrapping. Not only that, it was trading card number 11, an original 1942 print that he’d managed to track down and buy for his very own,_ _even if by doing so he’d accepted the fact that he kept this sort of thing up, he’d probably never have any money for a house. It was the single most prized thing in his collection and he was surprised that it should be the first thing that she would notice. But then he saw the glint in her eye and in a split second he knew. She wasn’t scornful of him - she was impressed._

_“This is original, isn’t it?” she asked._

_He felt as if his tongue was made of cardboard. “Yes.”_

_“Must’ve taken a lot to track it down, in such good condition, too.”_

_“Oh, you’ve no idea.”_

_“Are you planning to get the whole set?”_

_Phil scoffed, desperately hoping that his hand wasn’t beginning to sweat in hers. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. I don’t think I’ll get lucky twelve times and besides, my bank account might never recover from this alone.”_

_Melinda just grinned at this, a little too knowingly for Phil’s taste, and released his hand to go back to his bookcase and replace the little card that showed his hero punching Adolf Hitler. It was all he could do not to snatch her hand back._

_“Well, at least now I know what to get you for your birthday,” she’d said. She continued to look over his things with care and interest, before turning back. “No Peggie Carter trading cards, then?”_

_“Uh …”_

_“Because she did found this organisation we’re working for, after all.”_

_Oh, this was much more awkward. “Do … do you want me to let you know if I find one?”_

_Melinda let loose a full grin that lit up her face and in that moment Phil promised himself that he’d spend the rest of his life making her smile in that way. “Oh, yes please! But they’re usually more expensive than Captain American ones because there were less printed, so don’t buy one for me cause I’ll have to buy you the whole set of Cap’s just to repay you.”_

_And then she’d thrown a wink at Phil’s dropped jaw before continuing her exploration._

Phil came back to the present to find himself mechanically stirring. God, that all seemed like such a long time ago now, but in a strange way everything seemed to have come around full circle. Here she was again, in his room as if for the first time. He sighed and paused in his work. It was the first time, at least for her. And yet she was behaving exactly as she had done all those years ago. Her memory was gone but the longer he spent with her the more he realised that her personality, that undefinable essence that made her Melinda, was still very much in tact. Their relationship wasn’t over, simply back at the beginning again. A reset. Just a reset. That didn’t mean an end.

After the bookcase she’d wandered quietly towards his desk in one far conner and although she had stood there for a moment she made no move to open any drawers or shift any of the various files that were still scattered about. After that she crossed the room to peak out of one of the curtained windows, though the only view she’d be getting would be of a narrow alley and a brown bricked warehouse next door. None of the rooms at the Playground had much of a view so Phil was confused when, after nearly five minutes, she’d hardly moved from that one spot. When it became too much he’d risked a glance behind him and saw Melinda leaning against the wall, holding the curtain open a fraction with her head tilted back and her gaze firmly fixed above her. Phil felt a sudden jolt at his heart when he realised that she wasn’t looking down at the alley, but rather up at the stars. The night’s sky was a poor feast for any stargazer with only a few, faded specks that could be seen from their inner city hideout, but whatever was there had her captivated. Why? A sudden wave of understanding hit Phil as he realised that Melinda - the Melinda without her memories - had spent all her time in a windowless room deep within base. She undoubtedly knew of stars but this … this would be her first new memories of such things.

He didn’t realise he’d been staring, but after a few moments she must’ve felt his eyes on her because she turned her gaze from the window to look directly at him. There was a beat in which neither of them moved or said a word before Melinda broke the spell and let the curtains fall silently back across the window.

“Guess I’m just a bit claustrophobic,” she said softly.

“And antsy,” said Phil as he turned back to the cooktop and started to divide the food between two plates, quickly loading them and carrying them to the tiny table near by. Melinda quickly followed his lead and sat down opposite him in a way that suggested that she was already feeling a little worn by her short journey around his room. He thought it best not to comment on it.

“I’m just antsy because I can’t do anything. I can’t remember anything so I want to do something physical to take my mind off that … but I can’t even do that because I’m too damn weak.” She took a breath and started to stab at her food.

“Please don’t make me remind you - again - that you’ve been in a coma,” said Phil, ignoring his own meal to watch Melinda hack away at her. “Uh, you know it’s already dead, right?”

She paused at this as if somewhat embarrassed, and started to cut away more calmly. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just … frustrated.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Phil. “I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

Melinda sighed and dropped her hands, still holding her utensils at the side of her plate. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she stared down, and Phil waited quietly for her to speak. “I’m not a blank canvas. My mind, it’s not empty. It’s worse. It’s like … kind of knowing the tune of a song but completely forgetting the words. Or, having a gut feeling that you can’t prove or explain. I know what I like and what I hate, I know deep down, instinctually, what kind of person I am but … I have nothing to back that up.” Here she paused and looked up, and Phil had to stop himself from moving to the other side of the table and taking her into his arms. Her eyes were wet but she wasn’t crying and her knuckles where white from how hard she gripped onto her knife and fork. Phil knew that when she was like this the last thing she ever wanted was contact. “I’m sorry I got out of bed and had that … problem … but I just couldn’t stay alone in that little room anymore. All I can think about is how much of me is gone and I just feel so …” Suddenly her lips snapped shut and she swallowed her last words as she broke their gaze.

“How do you feel?” asked Phil gently.

“I don’t want to say.”

For a moment Phil had to struggle with his natural curiosity before replying, “Fine, if you like.”

They ate for a while in silence before Melinda suddenly spoke again.

“I’m sorry I held your hand like that. It was inappropriate.”

Phil nearly choked. “It wasn’t - you didn’t -”

“I can tell I made you uncomfortable,” said Melinda practically.

Uncomfortable didn’t quite sum it up. “More … confused, really.” He could feel the back of his neck heating up and hoped like hell that he wasn’t blushing. “Why did you?”

“No idea,” she said simply, and he could tell that was the truth. “It just felt … natural. Did we ever …?”

“You were never much for handholding,” said Phil quickly. He was surprised to see a look of disappointment flit across her face.

“Oh,” she said softly. She seemed to think of something for a moment before continuing, “I’d like it if Skye would take me back to my room. I’d like to talk to her a bit more.”

“I can -”

“No, no, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You don’t.”

Melinda gave him a look that he’d seen a millions times before, where it seemed as if she were pulling the very thoughts out of his minds and laying them down in front of them. “I know I don’t inconvenience you, in the sense that you’re happy to give your time and assistance, but I do make you -” Here she cut off, obviously rethinking her phrasing before saying, “I can tell you’re having trouble with this. With how I am now. And while I’m grateful that you want to help me get better I just think that … maybe you shouldn’t spend too much time with me. You just seem …” Again she trailed off, unable or unwilling to finished her sentence, but Phil knew exactly what she would’ve said and he felt his blood run cold. So much for hiding how he was feeling. It seemed that May without her memories was every bit as intuitive as May with them. Even though he knew it was a lost cause he still tried to protest.

“It’s not me anyone needs to be worried about,” he started, but she cut him off right away.

“But I do,” she said. “I do worry about you, and I can’t look after me if I’m too focused on someone else.”

Phil felt as though she’d physically hit him. Never in his life had he felt more useless, more pathetic than in this moment where he couldn’t even help the woman he loved because of his own stupid self pity. What’s even worse was that she was the one who’d called him out on it, after only a few hours together. But what could he do, except agree with her and hope that, in that way, this would speed her recovery.

He couldn’t speak, so he just nodded his acceptance of the situation. Melinda looked neither particularly happy or relieved by this, just a little sad.

She looked back down at her plate. “This is good,” she muttered, stuffing more food in.

Phil mechanically followed her lead. His dinner tasted like dust.


	8. Chapter 8

_Coward_. The word whispered through her skull, again and again. _Coward, coward, coward._

“Are you okay?” asked Skye, who was hovering by her elbow as the two of them made their way back to Melinda’s hospital room.

“Fine,” she answered flatly.

Skye seemed to be waiting for her to add something more to this but Melinda felt that any more words at the stage would just become annoying, and so ignored her inquisitive eyes.

However, Skye wasn’t someone to just let things be. “Did Coulson say something? Do something?”

Melinda twisted her lips and shot Skye a hard glance, but for some reason this just made her face light up with barely suppressed laughter.

“Oh wow, you still have that Agent May look to you, even if you don’t know it!”

Okay, this deserved some words. “What do you mean?”

Skye shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Whenever you get really irritated you’ll give us that exact look I got just then. The whole _‘shut-up-I-can-kill-you-with-my-pinky’_ vibe.”

“And that makes you laugh?” Melinda thought about it for a moment. “You mustn’t take me very seriously.”

“No, no! It’s not that. You can definitely kill me with your pinky,” said Skye in a manner that suggested that she was trying to be reassuring. In reality it just made Melinda all the more curious and cautious of whoever she was with her memories. “You remind us of what you can do, but I’ve never been afraid you’d hurt any of us. I’ve never been afraid of you.”

Melinda nodded as they reached the entrance to her room. She supposed that was something, to be powerful but not feared. That she could deal with. But she could already feel her limbs shaking with fatigue and knew that she wouldn’t be doing any of her ninja moves any time soon.

“Do you want me to come in?” asked Skye.

“No, thank you,” she said. “It’s been … well, I think I’ll just go to bed.”

Skye nodded. “Yeah, AC’s cooking usually sends me into a stupor too.”

“ ‘AC’?”

“Agent Coulson,” explained Skye. She then screwed up her nose as she thought about that for a moment. “Actually, he’d be DC now, but that just doesn’t sound right, dose it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Melinda quietly. This comment quickly wiped all joviality off Skye’s face as reality once again made itself known, and Melinda instantly regretted her words as Skye’s kind face became clouded with sadness. The young woman was usually so good at concealing her worries and doubts that to see them so plainly made Melinda’s heart twist. But you’re not going to tell her to keep her distance, are you? whispered a hideous voice in the back of her mind. You’re okay taking her worries on, aren’t you? But not his?

Melinda was so caught up in her own turmoil that she was completely unprepared for Skye suddenly throwing her arms around her neck once again. Her sudden show of affection quickly curt through any melancholy Melinda was experiencing and she actually managed to give a breath of soft laughter into Skye’s hair. “You’re very tactile, aren’t you?” she asked, smiling.

Skye pulled away, looking a little sheepish. “Well, who doesn’t like hugs?”

Melinda smiled and rubbed her hands up and down Skye’s arms. “I’m glad you’re here, Skye. I’m glad you’re helping me through all this. Thank you.” However, while Skye smiled and nodded, Melinda couldn’t help but note a slight twinge of concern around her eyes, and the way she bit at her lower lips as if to keep herself from saying something more. “What is it?”

“It’s just … I’m glad to help and all but …”

“But what?”

Skye’s lips parted for a moment as she took a deep breath - but then she smiled brightly, too brightly, and Melinda knew at once that whatever she had been about to say was now being hidden from her. “But nothing. I’m glad to help. Goodnight!” And with just as much tact as she was beginning to expect from Skye, she spun on her heel and left the hallway as quickly as she could without running.

For a moment Melinda stayed frozen where she was, her hand on the door handle, before she shook herself and entered her little room. But once she closed the door behind her she felt … lost. The room … it was too sterile, too cold. Dress it up however you liked, it was still a hospital room and had that medical, sickly aura to it, nothing of her own self to be seen. And she was alone now. Just as she wanted. She walked over to her bed and sat down in the middle, the mattress hard and the sheets stiff. Unbidden, the memory of laying in Phil’s warm, homely bed rose up and for an instant she could’ve sworn that his scent was somehow caught up in her hair.

_Coward, coward, coward._

She had intended to talk more with Phil, to better understand him, but as she’d walked around his apartment she’d become aware of something that had left her very uneasy. She’d looked over his collectables and thought it to be rather cute, had seen all his S.H.I.E.L.D work strew on various surfaces and thought him to be dedicated, had watched his back very closely as he’d been engrossed in his cooking and thought he was … well, she should at least admit to herself that she wasn’t half impressed at how well the while dress shirt with rolled up sleeves suited him, and seeing that type of man in a domestic situation … well. But none of that mattered when she’d gone to the window and looked up at the few flickering stars that could be seen. As she’d gazed up at those far off an infinite spots she’d had a revelation. She’d turned to once again survey the room and the man himself, who was still not even facing her, and as she’d looked over his apartment, his work field on every available surface, his well preserved things and the pressed and suited man himself she realised that he was … solitary. Contained. There were no personal artefacts anywhere to be seen, no photos of family or loved ones, nothing written that wasn’t focused on S.H.I.E.L.D, no personal knickknacks just shinny, plastic wrapped museum pieces. And she’d realised. This man was his job and his hobbies, and that was it.

She had no idea why she’d held his hand earlier - caressed it, really. It had just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. It had seemed familiar, a sense she was desperately searching for these days and mostly she’d found it to be a soothing action, something that calmed her. But as she thought back on it, Phil himself had made no move to either stop her, or encourage her. In fact, he hand’t moved at all, just stayed still like prey that was terrified of making even the slightest twitch. That should’ve been enough of a sign for her. He’d said that they had a relationship, but that this was clearly in the past and hadn’t been rekindled in some years. Her eyes flickered to the cot still in its corner. He cared about her, that much was true, but clearly she’d over estimated exactly how much. She thought about the exact words that had been used to describe their relationship and the phrase ‘best friends’ was the one that popped up the most.

She lay flat on her bed, still above the sheets, and folded her hands across her stomach. The problem was, in her gut, the feelings she was experiencing around him were anything but ‘best friends’. They were …

Oh God. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. Was it possible that she - Melinda with her memories - had feelings for him that he didn’t reciprocate? That would explain why he was so awkward around her, trying to help retrieve her lost memories without ever becoming too personal, without touching on exactly why they never got back together after their ‘moment’. God, she’d been so self assured that she’d imagined that he was pining for her, or at least missing the woman she had been! But after spending time in his room, his living space devoid of any personal life he might have, she’d realised that he wasn’t one for relationships and was most likely married to the job. She had no memory to back any of this up but as she had instinctually known that Skye was someone important in her life she was absolutely certain that Phil was even more so. She’d just made the mistake of thinking that she meant more to him than he did to her.

That’s why she’d asked him to pull back with his help. He was confusing her, she was confusing herself! She wished she could just load facts into her brain without all these emotions clogging things up but if she couldn’t do that than she would just removed the thing that was causing the emotions.

And that’s why she was a coward, that was why she felt so awful after throwing Phil’s well meaning help back in his face. She’d tried to make it seem like she was protecting him when in reality she was protecting herself, or at least trying to make her crazy, senseless life a little simpler. But what else could she do? He was safe, yes, but he was also confusing and after their mostly strained and silent meal she had reached the conclusion that he was also the type who preferred to be alone. And she wasn’t about to take that from him.

 

* * *

 

The sound of Skye’s footsteps echoed loudly throughout the deserted halls as she made her way slowly to the common area. When she got there she was relieved to find Jemma and Trip were the only two there, both lounging on the sofa, both curled around steaming white mugs with soft and light snatches of conversations drifting between them like gently lapping waves. Jemma saw her first and waved her in, smiling.

“Skye, you just made it! If you go to the stove you’ll find the last of the hot cocca I made.”

“Aw, and I was going to go back for seconds,” said Trip with a fake pout that simply made Skye pull a face in response as she went off to fill her own mug. “You’re going to love it, Skye, it’s the best thing I’ve tasted in ages. Jemma here cooks it up in a pan, real old school.”

“Actually, I think you’ll find I make it correctly, the only way hot cocca should be made,” replied Jemma primly, to which Trip just laughed. However, as Skye joined them on the couch his smile faded as he looked her over.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” he asked. Jemma swung her gaze to her as well, concern now etched on her features.

Skye sighed and clutched at the nearly too hot to touch mug. “What do you think? It’s May.”

“Is she okay?” asked Jemma immediately. “I heard about her fall and frankly was a little concerned when I wasn’t called for.”

“She’s fine, Coulson looked after her,” said Skye dismissively. “Took her to his room, made her dinner.”

A smile blossomed on Jemma’s face. “Aw, that is so sweet!”

“Yeah, but they were … weird.”

“Weird how?” asked Trip. “Because with them that’s a pretty broad term.”

“Weird like … okay, well, Coulson called me to his quarters just to walk May back to her hospital room. Why wouldn’t he take her himself?”

“Maybe … he’s too busy?” suggest Jemma, but it was obvious she had no real belief in this theory.

“That man is never too busy with anything when it comes to Agent May,” said Trip.

“Exactly!” said Skye. “And then, when we said goodnight, she thanked me for all my help.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound too strange,” said Trip reasonably.

“But it was the way she said it,” insisted Skye. “Like I was the only one who was helping her. Like … Coulson didn’t even factor in.”

Trip leaned forward a little and took a sip from his mug as he thought. “Maybe Coulson’s taking a step back, giving her room to recover?”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” said Skye. “He’s the best person to help her, the person who knows her better than anyone on this base, maybe anyone on this planet!”

“Or maybe she asked him to step back,” said Jemma quietly. “Maybe he was doing more harm than good.”

Skye blinked and looked at Jemma. A cold feeling started to form in the pit of her stomach as she realised that Jemma was now curled into a ball at the end of the couch, staring down into space, her mug of cocca now all but forgotten, and she remembered that Jemma had very much been through this sort of thing before.

“Oh, Jemma …” she began, but the biochemist quickly raised her head and plastered a bright smile on.

“I’m fine,” she said, her smile strong but her eyes betraying her. “And this isn’t about me and … it’s about Coulson and May, and … well … sometimes the people who want to help the most just end causing the most damage. I think we call all understand if Coulson isn’t actually the best person for May right now.”

“Jemma …” said Trip softly, reaching out to her, but she quickly stood and placed her mug on the table.

“I’m sorry but I’m rather tired and am going to go to bed now. Goodnight.” This was all said in a rush of clipped tones and before Trip or Skye could do anything about it Jemma had left.

“Jemma wait!” called Skye, but she was already gone and Skye knew that when Simmons wanted to be alone there was no point trying to push herself into that little bubble. When she was this emotional or worked up about something there had been only one person who’d been able to comfort her and he was now …

Skye leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling, blowing out a puff of air that made her fringe dance around her face. “This is all such a mess,” she sighed.

“You know you’ve said that before,” said Trip, looking down into his mug.

“Well, I was right then and I’m right now. Trip,” she looked over at him. “What are we going to do?”

Trip took a moment to drain his cocca before placing the now empty mug best Jemma’s half full one. “We’re going to take it slow, try every possible route, explore every possible option and we are never going to give up on any of our team until we’ve sorted through all of this. You got it?” Skye smiled, a little sadly, from her couch and Trip returned it. He then nodded at her mug. “But first, you’re going to finish that drink, because that it some damn fine cocca that you don’t want to be missing out on.”

Skye huffed out a burst of laughed and took a sip. He was right, it was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news - I was in a motorcycle accident.  
> Worse news - This was right when I was supposed to be having a holiday break and now I cannot.  
> Good news - Still alive and mostly unscathed.  
> Silver lining? - With all the time on my hands I'm going to really ramp up the chapter production.
> 
> Once again thank you all so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Jemma did not sleep well that night. In fact, she wasn’t overly sure she slept at all, with painful recollections and wistful fantasies all blending and mixing before her eyes in such a way that when her alarm sounded she had never felt less rested in her life. But still, that wasn’t about to stop her. Jemma thrived on structure and when other things in her life fell apart or became too complicated or messy, she could always fall back on a familiar routine.

So she got up, washed the grit out of her eyes and put on her makeup. She had breakfast in the communal area with a rather sweaty Skye who had clearly just finished her sparing session for that morning and didn’t mind being seen all slick and red faced.

“I always get super hungry after a workout, and I can’t do what Bobbie does and just hit the showers straight away. I gotta eat!” she said in her defence, but she did shoot a guilty look at Jemma. “But I was hoping to be gone before anyone else got in, so sorry about the funk.”

“Oh, I don’t mind your funk,” said Jemma, playing with her oats.

Skye watched her thoughtfully for a moment before returning back to her own meal. “So …” she started casually, a little too casually. “You okay?”

Jemma rolled her eyes and smiled at Skye. “I’m fine, like I said. But thank you for your concern.”

Skye nodded and didn’t say anything else, but Jemma knew that look in her eye too well and was sure that this conversation was not over just yet. She continued to calmed eat her breakfast all the while sighing internally. Skye was wonderful but once she found a bone to chew on she just didn’t let it go, and Jemma made a note to avoid being alone with her for at least the rest of the day. She just didn’t think she could handle that sort of discussion today.

“So, what are the plans for today?” asked Jemma, hating the silence and wishing to talk about anything else.

“Off to visit May, once I clean myself up,” said Skye, polishing off her meal. “I want to help her, I really do but … where do I start?”

Jemma turned her eyes to the ceiling as she thought. “There’s no real structure to helping someone recovered from significant brain trauma as everyone reacts differently to different things. From what I can tell May’s personality is fairly unchanged, so maybe you could try to work with that?”

Skye thought about that for a moment. “Hey, remember how when she gets frustrated she likes to go hit things?”

Jemma smiled. “Oh, yes.”

“Well, maybe instead of focusing on her head for the moment, we focus on her body? Get her moving, work on building her strength up again.”

“That’s actually a great idea,” said Jemma. “But I do recommend going slow.”

“I wasn’t going to throw her down on the mats or anything,” protested Skye.

“I know you weren’t, but I’m just thinking about how she collapsed yesterday …”

Skye nodded, sobered. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Slow going it is.”

“Also, you can take her back to her rooms today. There’s no medical reason for her to stay in the hospital wing of the base and perhaps a safe, familiar environment might help accelerate her recovery.” She paused and looked down into her goopy oats. “I’m actually not really hungry this morning,” she said, half to herself.

“Because you eat that rubbish like you’re an orphan who _wants more, please_ ,” said Skye, her voice switching to an atrocious cocky-like accent towards the end that was so terrible that Jemma laughed despite herself.

“Oh dear Lord, I will do the dishes if you promise you’ll never again try any sort of accent, ever,” she said, digging back into her oats in an almost defensive way. “And it’s proven that the slow burning energy you get from porridge is much more beneficial to your body than that sugary nonsense you just consumed.”

“But it’s so good,” groaned Skye, dumping her bowl in the sink and making to leave. “Right, I’m going to go wash, make myself look vaguely human before I visit May.”

Jemma forced down a spoonful without pulling a face and said, “Actually, I’ll go see her first, just to see exactly how she’d doing.”

“So I’ll probably see you there,” nodded Skye, and then left.

Jemma finished her breakfast, all the while reminding herself of how healthy it was, before cleaning the kitchen area and making for May’s room. The route to her door now felt like the most frequently walked path in the base and she was sure she could now navigate her way there in her sleep. For three weeks she’d been the first and the last person of medical training to look over May, checking in on her and facing the agonising duty of being the barer of bad news.

_She’ll never in her life forget how small and fragile May had looked when she’d been rushed in, covered in blood and dust, her face swollen and disfigured. After only a look Jemma knew the situation was dire and a quick scan revealed swelling in her skull that was pressing on her brain. She remembered pealing back the lids and looking into those blank, bloodshot, unresponsive eyes, remembered how weak and unsteady her heartbeat had been, remembered the clear liquid that could been seen leaking from both her ears and most of all she remembered thinking quite clearly, this is going to be the day Agent May dies._

_But against all the odds she’d survived the operation and the next twelve hours passed without incident. Yes, May was hooked up to all sorts of machines and needles but she was alive. Barely. For the next twenty-four hours Jemma was inundated with the same questions over and over - how is she? is there any change? what are the chances of her waking up? what more can we do? what can I do? what can you do? - so much so that it got to the point where she had had to escape the Playground, if only for her own sanity. Without any other great option she’d headed straight for the Bus, back to her own little sleeping pod she’d spent countless missions in. She’d closed the door and nearly cried at how wonderful the silence felt before curling up on the long disused bed and just laying there, not quite sleeping but not quit aware of what was happening. She didn’t know what to do, but everyone was looking to her as if she could pull a miracle out of thin air and she just couldn’t take that anymore, just couldn’t bare that sort of pressure when the past had already proven that in situations like these all her PhDs, all her intelligence and medical know how was virtually useless. How on Earth was she going to help May when she’d been unable to do anything for …?_

_She didn’t know how long she’d lain there and was only roused from her stupor by a soft knock at her door. When she didn’t say anything the door slide open and Bobbie Morse tucked herself into the little pod. Jemma quickly sat up on the bed and tried her best to neaten her appearance, although she knew at this point it was probably a lost cause._

_“Everyone’s looking for you, you know,” said Bobbie quietly, but without any accusation. Still, Jemma flinched like she’d been yelled at._

_“I’m sorry, I’ll get back to work now,” she’d said, avoiding all eye contact as she made to stand, but Bobbies warm hands on her shoulders gently pushed her back down to the bed._

_“Hey, hey, there’s no reason to rush!” she’d said. “We just wanted to know where you went to. And I want to make sure you’re alright.”_

_“I’m fine,” Jemma started to say, but Bobbie cut over the top of that._

_“No you’re not, you’re exhausted,” she’d said in tones that dared to be argued with. “And … seeing May in a coma like that … we all know how hard this must be for you.”_

_Jemma gripped onto the mattress and chewed at her cheek. “My feelings on the matter are irrelevant,” she’d said without emotion. “I just need to be able to preform my duties without personal problems getting in the way.”_

_Bobbie’s face became hard and she’d folded her arms in a rather intimidating manner. “Okay, now we both know that’s bullshit. You’re feelings are relevant. You are relevant. Don’t ever think otherwise. If this is too much for you, we have a whole host of other doctors who’ll be able to assist. You don’t need to put yourself through this pain, Jemma.” When she didn’t answer and just stood up ready to leave Bobbie reached out and grasped her hands. “Jemma!”_

_Jemma took a deep breath and finally looked into Bobbie’s wide, worried eyes. “I need to do this, somehow. I need to prove … I wasn’t good enough, last time. I wasn’t strong enough. I need to show that I am now.”_

_And she had. For the next three, long, painful weeks Jemma had been as nearly as a constant companion to the comatose May as the Director was. It was Jemma’s idea to put the cot in the room as she recalled her own sleepless nights waiting for a sign of life, nights that usually lead to an uncomfortable nap in an armchair and a sore back. The hours turned into day and the days lengthened into weeks and in all that time there had been no change in May’s condition._

_“But … no news is good news, right?” Skye had asked in hushed tones, not so much worried about disturbing the woman in the bed near them but rather the man who was keeping watch._

_“Not is cases such as these,” said Jemma despairingly. “The longer she remains in this unresponsive state the worse the damage could be. And a consistent coma such as this may lapse into months, even years.”_

_Skye turned her stricken face towards the unmoving pair. “Isn’t there something we can -?”_

_“There’s nothing to be done,” said Jemma shortly, tersely. There must’ve been something in her voice because Skye’s eyes had been wide when she’d turned back to her, and even Coulson had lifted his head to watch. “Really, why does everyone keep asking me this question? Do you really think that if you keep asking the same thing over and over I’m suddenly going to turn around and say ‘Oh, yes, there is, I’ve been keeping it secret this whole time!’ If there were something more to be done I would be doing it right now!”_

_Jemma stopped her sudden outburst by biting down firmly on her bottom lip almost to the point of pain, something that also helped keep in the near hysterical laughter that was threatening to bubble up at the sight of Skye’s shocked expression. Skye was speechless, what a miracle! She felt her whole body trembling like a wire about to snap and with a quick, “Excuse me,” she ran from the room._

_However, she hadn’t made it more than halfway down the corridor when she heard heavy footfalls behind her. “Skye, please …”_

_“Simmons.”_

_Jemma froze as she heard the Director’s voice and with huge reluctance slowly turned to face him, although she kept her eyes on the floor like a child awaiting a scolding. “Sir. I’m sorry about that and I can promise -”_

_Suddenly there were warm hands on her shoulders pulling her close into a firm embrace. At first Jemma was so shocked by this action that she held herself as stiff as a board, but gradually shaking hands rose to wrap around Coulson’s back and hold onto him just as tightly. She closed her eyes and leant into him, desperately trying to keep her tears at bay even though they burnt at her eyes painfully, and for a split second she was reminded of those few times in her life her own father had held her like this. Like she was someone who deserved to be kept safe._

_“I know you’re doing everything you can,” Coulson murmured, and Jemma’s grip re-tighten as she heard the underlaying exhaustion and worry in his voice. “And I am so grateful. We all are. We’re proud of you, Jemma.”_

_Later she wouldn’t be able to say exactly how long they stood together like that, but when she was finally able to pulled herself from him she’d felt more grounded, more secured than she’d been since this whole thing began. And she’d made a promise that not matter what, she wasn’t about to give up on either Agent May … or herself._

She reached May’s hospital room and paused outside from a moment, collecting herself. It had all paid off in a way. May was awake and well, and aside from the obvious cognitive issues they were now facing she was actually much more ready to face recovery than … than other people had been. Jemma grabbed the door handle, took a moment to compose herself, and with a quick knock entered.

She was glad to see that Trip was already there and the remains of a shared breakfast was sitting between the two of them. She was even more pleased to see May laughing, a genuine, open smile lighting up her face. However, the scene did give her a moment’s pause. She’d never remembered May laughing before and knew that even small things like smiles were a foreign expression on the operative’s face. The woman Jemma knew was a serious, war-like figure who’d been forged in fire, while this woman was all warmth and openness. She herself only knew bits and pieces of what had happened to May in Bahrain, and most of that was campus gossip, but as she compared the cold, distant pilot to this happy, smiling one … she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of damaged May might go through when she had to live her past yet again.

She couldn’t help but wonder if getting those particular memories back would be more cruel than kind.

“Doctor Simmons,” May greeted her politely enough but Jemma had a feeling that May didn’t particularly like her - although that might just be the usual distrust most people have in doctors. “Trip here has been telling me about his grandfather. Sounds like quite a man.”

“You’d better believe it,” said Trip as he made to leave. “I’m guessing this is patient-doctor time now?”

“Yes, but you don’t need to leave, Trip,” said Jemma as she pulled on some gloves. “None of this is going to be invasive.”

“Good,” said May, making them both smile.

“I heard about your little excursion last night,” started Jemma, but May quickly interrupted her.

“Are you going to give me a lecture too? I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

Jemma raised her eyebrows at this attitude as she took May’s pulse, and shot a knowing look at Trip which he rightfully returned. Trip folded his arms and chuckled.

“Yeah, everyone on the base knows that you are totally going to do that again,” he said.

“Which is why when Skye gets here she’d going to get you started on a fitness routine,” said Jemma. “Something to build up the strength that you’ve lost over these few weeks. Can I just say that it’s very lucky you’re such a normally health and fit person. Someone else in your position who hadn’t exercised as often as you would find coming out of a coma … more difficult.” Jemma was painfully aware of Trip’s eyes on her so she hurried on. “Also, as of today I am officially releasing your from my care. You can move back into your own rooms this morning and I do encourage you to try and join in with the others around the base.”

“Is any of this going to help get my memories back?” asked May seriously.

Jemma pulled back from her examination to look at her. “Brain damage is a difficult thing to fix. We can’t set goals for you to achieve or give you some sort of timeline for recovery. The best thing is to move forward, even if you feel like you’re leaving something behind.”

For some reason these words seemed to deeply affect May, who pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands. “I see …” she said softly before looking up with renewed determination. “So, when’s Skye getting here?”

“She’s here now!” Skye burst into the room, her hair still damp from her shower. “How’s the patient today?”

“She’s well,” said Jemma, stripped off her gloves. “But still prone to exhaustion. So whatever you do today, please do it slowly.”

Skye snapped a quick salute. “Absolutely, doctor’s orders shall be followed.”

“And I’ll be here to back that up,” said Trip firmly.

“All this attention’s going to make me blush,” said May dryly, already swinging her legs off the bed in preparation for leaving. “But I am grateful for it.”

Jemma just shrugged off her thanks and made her exit, leaving the three of them chatting and laughing and planning various exercise routines that already sounded, at least to Jemma’s ears, as if they were all about to completely ignore her instructions to ‘take it slow’. Oh well. Such enthusiasm was good for anyone recovery and if May experienced another fainting spell at least it would be on a softer floor.

The base was already buzzing with activity, but it was a deep thrum of ordinary tasks as opposed to any sort of emergency. She hoped with all her heart that nothing too terrible happened for the next few days while May was just getting used to the world again. Coming back with no memories would be daunting enough, but coming back into this sort of world completely unprepared … she shuddered to think what that would be like. As she wandered back towards her lab her feet slowly took her down a path she didn’t often go and soon, without real thought, she found herself just outside the garage. She paused for a moment, peaking in, searching for that one particular face. There were already quite a few people tinkering away - mechanics, she thought with a playful sigh - and right towards the back of the room she could make out the large, looming shape of Mack and the much smaller figure of Leopold Fitz.

They didn’t notice her, being too far from the doorway to hear anyone passing by and also too wrapped up in their own work to see anything outside of it. For a few minutes Jemma watched them, watched how Fitz threw his hands in the air and twisted them in such a familiar manner, but also how he struggled for words and fumbled with the more delicate tools in such an alien way. So much of Fitz was still there, yet too much had changed within him and between them for anything to ever go back to the way it was. And Jemma knew that was her problem, was both their problem’s really. Their whole lives she and Fitz had been the type to solve problems, to fix things, to make things all better again and yet when it came to the most important person who needed to be fixed there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do. What was even worse was that Jemma had seen the negative impact her presence had had on Fitz, to the point where she knew she had to leave if he was to have any chance of getting better. She was glad Mack had come on the scene, she was glad he was helping Fitz heal but … the fact that she herself could not do this for her best friend was agonising. That she had to now watch his progress from afar, like a clinical doctor cut her deep. And the fact that her mere presence alone actually making things worse was a pain she almost couldn’t bare.

A part of her wanted to go to Coulson, to see how he was dealing with all of this but … to what end? It wasn’t as though she’d be able to offer any valuable insight or solution when it had been proved how absolutely useless she’d been in these type of cases before. All she could do was sympathise with him, and she knew that it wasn’t her place to offer the Director of SHIELD her sympathy, something she wasn’t sure he’d even accept. But she knew the agony he was going through all too well, of knowing that even though you’re going to see the person you care for the most every day, you’re still painfully aware that you’re also never going to see them again.

Jemma watched Fitz for a few more minutes, feeding that painful feeling in her heart like a fool, before finally tearing her eyes away and continuing to her lab. But if she’d stayed a fraction longer she would’ve seen Fitz randomly look up from his work just in time to see her retreating figure.


	10. Chapter 10

“Welcome to la casa de May,” said Skye as she swung open the rather small door to a rather small room. Melinda walked in closely followed by Trip, who said he was just there to carry her things, but considering her ‘things’ comprised of a few clothes, iPad and framed photo of her mother, this was the weakest lie Melinda had ever heard of. It was obvious by the way he was hovering a few paces behind her that he had appointed himself her guardian in a way, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head as if he could actually tell that her legs were already beginning to shake with the effort of walking from one side of the base to the other. A part of her was annoyed at having to need someone to like this, and grateful that she indeed had someone to quite literally watch her back.

She stepped into the small living space and took a deep breath of stale air. Clearly this space had not been used for a while. She slowly paced the room, trying her best to ignore the painfully hopeful look Skye had on her face, as if she was just waiting for something to jolt Melinda’s memories. Though it was larger than the hospital room she’d been in it was still fairly smaller than Phil’s room - and it had no kitchen facilities, although the lack of such things didn’t really bother her. The bed was crisply made in one corner, a desk with neat stacks of paperwork stood in another. She went and opened the builtin wardrobe to find what seemed to be all her clothes, pressed and ready. She ran her fingers across the multitude of jackets thoughtfully. It seemed like she really had a thing for the colour black.

She closed the cupboard door and turned back to the room where Skye and Trip were watching her, the former almost quivering with hopeful anticipation while the later was more sedate, more prepared for bad news. Melinda just grimaced and shrugged. “Sorry. Nothing.”

Skye deflated like a balloon, but only for a moment. “Ah, well, we didn’t expect too much, really.” She said this so easily Melinda could quite happily enjoy the lie.

“It’s still early days,” said Trip in a comforting manner as he placed Melinda’s belongings on her bed. “We’ll get there.”

Melinda sidled over to her bed and sat down, trying her best to be casual about it and hide her trembling legs. “So what’s the plan, then? Exercise?”

“Tai chi,” said Skye. “Do … do you remember anything about that?”

“I know what it is, but I couldn’t really tell you the first thing about it,” said Melinda, although she could already feel her mind starting to spin in the way it usually did these days when she felt something familiar and just couldn’t place it. “But we’ll give it a go.” She took a deep breath and pushed herself off the bed, legs still somewhat shaky but firm enough. However, Trip still noticed her slight troubles and spoke up.

“If it’s too hard …”

“I’ll stop,” said Melinda, struggling not to roll her eyes. “But right now all I’m really feeling is hungry and I know I just had breakfast, but Doctor Simmons said I should be eating frequent small meals.”

“So you want me to leave and get you some food, then?” asked Trip, sounding a little dubious.

“Yes, please.”

He shot a quick glance to Skye, who in turn shrugged and gave a ‘I can handle this’ look before he nodded and left. As he closed the door behind him Skye blew out a breath and shook her hands in front of her as if she were warming up, and placed her feet about a shoulder’s width apart.

“Okay, some simple ti chi, but let me tell you, this is going to be so strange, me teaching you.”

“Strange how?” asked Melinda, copying Skye’s stance and raising her hands.

Skye glanced at her out the corner of her eye. “Because you taught me.”

The whole process was strange, but for the first time the strangeness was a most welcome thing. Melinda didn’t really know tai chi, not in the factual sense, but as the lesson progress she found herself moving without thought, her hands rising and falling in smooth motion that was less of an active decision and more to do with muscle memory. As she and Skye gently moved in tandem she noticed how she would begin the next position without waiting on Skye’s instruction and soon she didn’t even need to watch her to keep up. Skye noticed this and gradually stopped talking, although she couldn’t quiet keep a small, triumphant smile from tickling her lips. Melinda herself felt more relaxed then since this whole ordeal began and as her body moved of it’s own accord she felt her mind begin to drift and soon she was floating through a soothingly quiet world.

It was a wonderful thing, not to think. Her world became nothing more than smooth, slow movement and even breaths.

Until a memory - an actual memory - sprang up right in front of her eyes.

And it was of Phil.

_He was sitting before her - no beside her. She was preforming her tai chi routine and he was there for some reason, dressed as she’d always seen him in a grey suit and striped tie, just sitting, watching her with his hands clasped in front of him. He was talking, but she couldn’t make out the words. And she felt … amused? Annoyed? She didn’t stop her routine to answer, but he didn’t seem to mind. He smiled._

And in a flash it was gone. Melinda dropped her hands to her sides, her heart pounding and the trembling in her legs now spreading to her hands and her chest. That was real, not a dream or a hallucination, but a real, actual memory, the very first glimpse she’d had into her previous life. And it had been of him. His smile. Just as she started to feel a little light headed (oh no, not again) Skye noticed that something was wrong and was immediately at her side, gently guiding her to her bed.

“May? May, are you alright?” she asked.

Unable to speak for the moment Melinda just nodded, lips tight. She couldn’t stop replaying the memory over and over again, such a small snippet that told her nothing and all too much at the same time. That warm, indulgent feeling she got, his smile …

Just as Skye was starting to look really concerned at Melinda’s lack of response there was a short knock at the door and Trip re-entered with a small brown bag that hopefully contained snacks. He took a moment to evaluate the situation, Melinda sitting on the bed with Skye kneeling at her side.

“Okay, what’d I miss?”

“I just got a bit light headed, that’s all,” said Melinda quickly, her voice sounding a little too high and thready. For some reason she didn’t really feel like sharing her tiny memory just at that moment, and wanted more time to think it over. She was so sure it was real, but she also knew that there was only one other person on base that could quantify it for her. And she’d just made such an effort to tell him that she didn’t need his help … she needed a distraction. “What’s in the bag?” she asked.

“Sandwiches, fruit, and gluten free biscuits,” said Trip as he pulled out each item and lay them down on a nearby table. While this all sounded good to Melinda she saw how Skye scrunched up her nose.

“Lemme guess, Simmons packed that for you?”

Trip looked surprised. “What? No. I did this.”

Skye nodded thoughtfully, as if this was some new information she’d just discovered about Trip. “Hmm.”

“Okay, I don’t know where that look is coming from, but stop it,” said Trip, a little put off.

Despite the shaking that still affected her, Melinda managed to get up off the bed and walk unaided over to the small dining table, where she was more than a little touched at how Trip pulled out a chair for her to sit in. A good old fashioned gentleman. She looked down at her meal and realised that there was only enough for one. “You two aren’t staying?”

“We got orders,” said Trip, looking at Skye meaningfully. Melinda paused as she unwrapped her sandwich. Something in Trip’s whole manner just shifted, and the man before her went from being a happy, easy going guy to someone who had a core a steel. Skye noticed it to and Melinda saw a subtle yet powerful change in her stance.

“What orders?”

“News just came in that Carrington’s been sighted in London,” he said. “Bobbie and Hunter are already on the ground but they reckon they’re going to need back up soon.”

At the mention of the name ‘Carrington’ Skye’s hands balled into fists and she shot a quick look at Melinda, almost as if she were expecting a response. But, like every other name she’d encountered- expect for ‘The Calvary’ - it meant nothing to her.

“Who’s Carrington?” she asked. By the looks on Skye and Trip’s faces, this was someone important. Dangerous.

They both hesitated and for a split second Melinda thought she was going to have a repeat of her scene earlier with Phil, a wonderful rendition of ‘you’re too fragile to know now’. Thankfully, her suspicions were proven wrong.

“Doctor Arthur Carrington was a former agent for the terrorist organisation HYDRA, who went rogue a few years ago,” explained Skye quickly. “Apparently he found HYDRA too soft - which, considering HYDRA are super Nazis, says something about Carrington. The man is several shades of evil and has been known to preform experiments on people who are … gifted.” She paused a moment and Melinda saw a tremor go through her. “He was the one responsible for the bomb that put you in hospital.”

Melinda felt a cold, icy feeling form in the pit of her stomach and suddenly her sandwich didn’t seem so appetising. “Oh …”

“No-one’s seen or heard anything from him since the explosion,” said Trip. “In fact, we all thought he’d died that day.”

“Hoped, really,” muttered Skye. “But if he’s back, I want to be there to take him in.”

“Or take him out,” said Trip, and Melinda saw a flash of ruthlessness that she really didn’t like to see in such a man. “Coulson’s already on the Bus, he’s just waiting for us.”

“Well, sounds like you need to go to work,” said Melinda, trying her best not to let them see her shaking hands.

Skye looked torn. “I’m so sorry to abandon you …”

Melinda waved this away. “You’re not, and I’ll be fine. Go.”

Skye gave her a tight smile and headed for the door, but just before she left Melinda couldn’t help but call out one last question. “Skye?”

“Yes?”

“Did … uh …” she played with her question for a moment. “When I did tai chi … did I do it alone?”

“Yeah, almost always,” said Skye immediately. Melinda felt her heart sink and then felt a little silly. She was so sure that had been a memory … “Well … save for interruptions. Cause when we get in trouble, you’re the one we run to.”

“Not me,” said Trip. “I sort out my own damn mess.”

“And is that why things are so often on fire when I find you?” asked Skye sarcastically. “Oh, and I know Coulson sometimes goes and talks to you when you do your routine,” she added, almost like an afterthought. Melinda felt a sudden and intense desire to shake her and demand why she didn’t say that in the first place. “I think he does it to solve problems he’s working on … or maybe he just likes to annoy you,” she said, smiling softly.

A small, happy feeling began to expand in Melinda’s chest and she once again thought about that tiny piece of her past, of Phil sitting calmly by her side, talking, smiling …

But in the next moment reality came crashing back.

“Really?” asked Trip, his eyebrows shooting up. “The man actually goes out of his way to annoy Melinda May? Why wasn’t dying once enough for him?”

“Wait, what?” asked Melinda. “Phil died?”

She could see by the expression in both their faces that a major mistake had been made. She half expected Skye to spin around and smack Trip on the arm and when she didn’t, just stood there with an almost scared expression on her face, Melinda knew it was serious.

“May, I …” Skye bit her lip and looked out at the corridor, and May knew she was desperate to get on mission and find this Carrington guy, but at the same time unwilling to leave May with such a heavy piece of information and no guidance about it. She even took a small step back into the room, as if she had even intention of telling her all about it when a siren was suddenly sounded all throughout the base.

“The Bus is about to take off,” said Trip urgently. “If we’re not there in five, we miss it.”

“May, I …” started Skye.

Melinda pressed her lips together to keep in all the questions that were about to spill out. “Never mind. I know, there’s not enough time. You two gotta go, go fight bad guys. Tell me all about it when you get back, okay?”

“I will, I promise,” said Skye emphatically. “May … I’m sorry.”

“Go!”

With the siren still ringing in her ears Skye and Trip quickly ran from the room, their thudding footfalls faded off into the distance. The door to her room closed firmly, blocking out some of the noise and in five minutes, following a deep rumble that she felt in her bones, the siren shut off and everything once again became silent and still.

Melinda stayed at her table, picking her way slowly through her snack, her mind whirling with this news piece of information. Phil Coulson had _died_. Something had happened, something terrible, and he had died. Without knowing exactly why she started to feel tears forming as her throat closed up painfully. She put down her food, rested her elbows on the table, and hid her face in her hands. Why on earth was she crying? Why was this information affecting her so much? Phil Coulson had died, but this obviously hadn’t been a permanent thing as he was very much alive and walking around. He seemed to be intact, all limbs accounted for, and seeing as how he hadn’t even mentioned his death perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal? But then, how could it not be? Coulson had died, but was still alive. A whole new wave of questions now beat down on her - how had it happened, how long before he was resuscitated, was it an accident or intentional? At the idea of someone actually hurting Phil she felt a huge surge of anger, a need to protect. She knew in her heart that she would do whatever it took to protect him.

She groaned into her hands and pressed her fingertips into her scalp. Where on earth were these emotions coming from? She hadn’t been wrong before when she’d told Phil that he’d distracted her as the mere thought of him was distracting her right now, and he wasn’t even in the room!

She felt dizzy and sick and sad and angry and … and she could really go for another round of tai chi again, just to calm herself down. The though of tai chi immediately lead back to that one memory she had, that simple little snippet of her past and suddenly the image of Phil, grey suit, hands folded, talking, smiling, filled her mind again. And suddenly she was calm.


	11. Chapter 11

An hour had passed since Skye and Trip had left, and once again Melinda felt restless. She dug into every nook and cranny of her little room and found things to be as bare and impersonal as Phil’s own apartment. This had made her question her previous conclusions about Phil, that he was a naturally solitary person. Perhaps a SHIELD agent wasn’t someone who formed attachments? Perhaps the job was just too demanding, too stressful to cultivate a meaningful relationship. But then again, there was Andrew. Once again Melinda went back to her iPad and pulled up the image of the grinning, incredibly handsome man. Her husband, her ex-husband. In this photo, this frozen moment of time, they had looked so happy together. Twined around each other at what looked like a party, laughing and dancing and just so alive and vibrant … Melinda could almost make out the echoes of a long finished celebration ringing in her ears, and as she looked around her empty room she felt the cold reality of the present. No matter how long she stared at this man, nothing new about him became known to her. As with everyone else, he was an absolute stranger.

Well … not everyone else. She now had a few precious seconds of memory to dwell over and that was of Phil. It was simple and told her absolutely nothing beyond what she already knew - that they were friends. So why would she remember a friend over someone she’d once shared her entire life with? She sighed and dropped the iPad back on the bed, placed her hands behind her and swung her legs a little as she surveyed her room. Once again all this was leading to was a series of questions with no set answer and Melinda very much did not feel like stewing in her own mind again. Nor did she feel like wandering around this base again, seeing how well that all went last time. She glanced at the bookcase that was off to one side but knew from examination that there were only technical books there, no fiction, and she didn’t seem like the type of person who indulged in hobbies. In fact, there was really nothing here that seemed to say _‘this is where a person lived, this is the personal, private space of Melinda May’_ , and she felt a growing sadness at how empty it was. It seemed like she was a ghost even before her accident.

There was a timid knock at the door that nearly made her jump out of her skin. “Come in?”

The door cracked open and a young man entered. Sort of. He didn’t really come into the room too far, just stood in the doorway and then hesitated, clinging to the handle as if he expected to be dismissed at any moment. He was a different sort of person Melinda had yet to see on this base as he seemed … soft. Not weak exactly, but he didn’t seem to have the same sort of authority she noticed in Skye or Trip or Simmons. He almost seemed a little lost. His hair was cut short and his clothes were neat, although much more casual than what she’d been seeing so far, and he was staring at her with wide, blue eyes. He seemed sweet, but he also seemed to be on edge and that just served to put Melinda on edge.

“Is … is this a bad time?” he asked.

“A bad time for what?”

“To see you. Well, not just see I wanted to … to …” he drifted off, blinking rapidly and waving his free hand in a distracted manner. “Speak! Yes,” he finally exclaimed. Melinda just stared and he averted her gaze. “Sorry. W … words are a bit hard for me. These days.”

“Know the feeling,” said Melinda, getting up from her bed to meet him, noticing how carefully he watched her movements. “We should just start with names, then.”

“Yes!” he said, pointing at her. Or rather, at her head. “Yes, because you’ve had …” and once again he trailed off.

“An accident,” supplied Melinda softly.

“ _Accident_ , yes I know. Thank you,” said the man, his words almost running over the top of hers. “I … I know the feeling.” He finally let go of the door handle and raised one hand in a little wave. “I’m Leo Fitz, or Fitz, really, you never call me Leo.”

“I’m Melinda.” she said, smiling, but for some reason Fitz simply froze and stared blankly.

“Yeah, I … uh … I never call you Melinda, either,” he said. “No one does.”

Phil does, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. Out loud, “Do you want to come in?”

“What?” he looked so genuinely startled by this invitation that she almost laughed. “N … no, no. This is … you sleeping …” he waved his hand again. “No, I just … just wanted to …”

Once again he trailed off, his lips trembling as if they were desperately waiting for the words his brain couldn’t quite form, and Melinda felt her heart ache for this young man. Phil had told her very briefly about Leo Fitz, but while he had mentioned that the engineer had been in ‘a bit of trouble’ he’d neglected to specify that Fitz had clearly experience some kind of head trauma - same as her.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, interrupting his stuttering. “But may I ask … what …?” She pointed at his head in the same manner he had done to her and in an instant he understood.

“No oxygen,” he said bluntly. “For too long. I was out for nine days and I wasn’t … wasn’t … I’m not like you. I couldn’t just …” Once again he hesitated, waving his hand at her in a strange way … and suddenly Melinda understood. She may have lost her memories, but she was still walking and talking. She could function, she could understand and react to the world. This man here, this Fitz, he seemed to having a much more difficult recovery and she was suddenly overwhelmed by a certain shame that came from being the one who was baring up better than others. Survivors’ guilt.

“I’m sorry.” The words came automatically but in truth she didn’t quite know what she was sorry for. Judging from Fitz’s frown, he wasn’t expecting an apology.

“What? No … no, you shouldn’t be sorry May! You …” He stopped and pressed his lips together, staring hard at her as he willed his words to come together. “You were always good to me, before and … after. And I just came here because … I know. I know what it’s like to have people … look at you differently. I know what it’s like to be …” His eyes dropped to the floor. “Damaged.”

Melinda felt a tightness again begin to form in her throat and did her best to clamp down on these damn emotions. “What are you saying, exactly?”

Still looking at the floor Fitz shrugged. “I dunno. I just thought … if you ever want to … I’m usually in the garage, it’s nice there people know not to … talk too much. If you ever feel the need to get away from … people …” He shrugged again and finally looked her in the eyes. “It’s hard sometimes, when they look at you and you can tell they’re not really seeing you. They’re still seeing someone else.”

_The hope in Skye’s eyes, the friendly warmth from Simmons and Trip … the way Phil had started avoiding her eyes all together because he could bare to look at her and not see …_

And there it was. The crux of all those confusing feelings she’d been having about him, about everyone. It was the way they were looking at her. Not cruelly, or sadly, just with an expectation that she was unable to meet. All except Phil. He looked at her as if she was disappearing, transforming, changing, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. That’s why he made her uncomfortable. He was looking at her and seeing someone else, and it wasn’t until Fitz had put it into words that she’d realise that. Melinda took a steadying breath and reached out to grasp Fitz’s shoulder. He jumped at the contact before nodding and placing his hand over hers. “I do know what you mean,” she said softly. “And thank you.”

“Okay, yes, if you like,” he muttered. “Look, I don’t want to disturb you, but if you wanted to come out … or not …”

“To the garage?” she asked, dropping her hand from his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s all quiet now everyone’s on mission,” he said, scratching at the back of his head. “It’s just me and Mack and Mack he’s … good … so if you want, or I don’t know, maybe not. I mean, alone is good too.”

“Yeah, it is,” agreed Melinda, but as she glanced back into that cold empty space she couldn’t quite suppress a shiver. “But it’s lonely and boring, too. So … lead on.”

* * *

 

“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Coulson, arms folded and a frown etched on his face as he scanned through the security footage that showed a tall, bearded man - Carrington - walking down some back alley in east London. He was speaking to both Skye who stood next to him in his office on the bus with her own tablet, and Bobbie and Hunter, who were linked via com. “He drops off the radar for nearly a month and then suddenly decides to resurface back in the most heavily surveyed city in the world? He must’ve known that this would be like a beacon for us. What is he hoping to achieve?”

“No idea,” came Hunter’s bored drawl over the radio. “Because we’ve been tailing him for hours now and all we’ve discovered is that he likes ducks.”

Coulson and Skye exchanged a confused look. “Ducks?”

“He spent nearly two hours at a local park, but in that whole time he spoke to no-one. The only thing he did was … feed the ducks,” clarified Bobbie.

“Perhaps he was waiting for someone, and whoever that was didn’t show?” suggested Skye.

“Possibly,” said Coulson. “Where is he now?”

“On the Underground, but all he’s done is get on the District line to Upminster,” said Hunter. “It’s been half an hour and two stations so far, and I’ve just seen a man fight a pigeon for a sandwich. Ah, London, I’ve missed you.”

Coulson chose to ignore all this. “Just keep following him and keep us updated.”

“Copy that, sir,” said Bobbie, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice before signing off.

He sighed and turned to Skye. “How long before we touch down?” he asked.

“Trip said it’ll be another hour, at best,” said Skye, switching off her tablet and laying it on the desk. “So what are you thinking?”

“Carrington’s trying to draw somebody out, that’s obvious,” Coulson started, staring hard at Carrington’s frozen image. “And by keeping to heavily populated areas he’s making it difficult to apprehend him without causing some sort of scene. But I can’t think what the point to all this might be. We’re still not sure why he was even at the warehouse earlier that month, or what he was possibly hoping to achieve by destroying and empty building.”

“His point doesn’t matter, we need to take him in before he does any more harm. When we get to London Trip and I will join up with Bobbie and Hunter, and between the four of us it should be pretty simple to bring him in without too much trouble,” reasoned Skye.

“With me running point from the Bus,” concluded Coulson. “Well, we have at least an hour to get ourselves ready, so you might want to go and brief Trip.”

Skye nodded once and made to leave, but at the door stopped and walked back in with as much purpose as she left. Coulson raised his eyebrows at her determined look and already knew exactly what she was going to say. Still, it was from long experience with Skye that he knew it was usually just better to let her speak when she wanted, as only bad things happened when he tried to halt her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked seriously.

“Of course,” he answered smoothly. “But your concern is noted.”

“Then why do I get the feeling you’re brushing me off, and not only me?” she said, folding her arms in a defensive pose. “Three weeks, Coulson. Three weeks you barely left her side and now at the very first chance you up and run -”

“Don’t,” said Coulson softly, but with a hint of danger in his voice that made Skye pause. “Carrington was my mission before all this, and I’ll see it through, as I always do. There is nothing else at play here.”

“Really?” she asked, staring him down. “Because I can’t help wondering why you’re out here on the Bus rather than back at base with -”

“Because she doesn’t want me there.”

Those words were some of the most bitter he’d ever had to taste, and the truth of them made it all the more worse. Skye’s mouth hung open at this revelation and Phil just shrugged and looked down at the floor.

“She requested that I spend less time with her,” he said dully. “I believe I make her … uncomfortable. And that can’t help with her recovery.”

Skye frowned and she looked as though she’d never heard such nonsense. “But … you’re the best person to help her here! You two are like, super close.”

Phil sighed and brought up one hand to rub at his eyes. “Not now. She doesn’t know me, Skye.”

“But you’re her - her -”

“Her what?” He dropped his hand and looked up at her, his face blank as he watched her struggle to find the words. “Her what, Skye?”

Defeated, Skye unfolded her armed and started to twist her hands together. “I … I don’t know,” she finally admitted. She paused and a knowing look came into her eyes. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Like with so many other things Skye perception of people and situations managed to cut right through to the root of the issue. Phil knew he and Melinda had had a bond, a relationship that was more than friendship, but not quiet a romantic attachment. At least, not quiet on her side. But now all those unspoken exchanges, knowing looks, all that history between them was gone and now Phil was simply her … nothing.

When he spoke again his voice was cracked and raw. “How can I ever fully explain something that never happened?”

He wasn’t overly surprised when Skye wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug that lasted only a few second, but he was more than grateful. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that Skye had shown him more open affection in the last year together than what he’d receive from any one person for … he couldn’t think how long. When she pulled away both their eyes were a little misty, but Skye still managed a watery smile. “You’ll figure it out, AC. You always do.”

He truly wished he had Skye’s faith about all this.

* * *

 

A little over an hour later Coulson, Skye and Trip were all gathered in the cargo bay preparing to roll out the jeep and meet up with Bobbie and Hunter. The ramp was down and the engine was already running, and they were just waiting on the final go-ahead.

“Remember, icers only,” said Coulson as his team double checked their equipment. “There’s already too many inconstancies in Carrington’s behaviour already and I’d really like a chance to figure out exactly what he’s planning in the long run, so I’d really like it if by the time you’re done, he’s still able to talk.”

“Copy that,” answered Bobbie over the com. “Right now he’s still just riding the train … we must be getting towards the end of the line soon …”

“So there’s been no change in the last hour then?” asked Coulson.

“None that we can see. He’s just … sitting …” Bobbie’s voice drifted off and there was a shuffling sound on the mic. Suddenly her voice was back. “Coulson. Something’s wrong.”

Trip and Skye froze in their preparations. “Agent Morse, what is it?” But there was no answer, just a smothered crackling noise. Faintly he could make out some voices, but they were all too indistinct to make out any words. “Morse! Hunter! Somebody answer!”

A sharp pain suddenly lanced its way across Phil’s skull, as if he’d been struck suddenly across the head and before he was fully aware of what was happening he was on the ground. He couldn’t see, he could barely hear the shouts and cries of Trip and Skye somewhere far, far above him. He could feel himself spiralling down a deep dark hole and as much as he struggled there was nothing for him to grab onto. Oblivion was opening up before him and with a sickening drop in his stomach he thought briefly about the last time he’d felt like this, and absolute age ago when his heart had been torn in two and he wondered if this was it? Was this, finally, the end of it all?

_Melinda …_


	12. Chapter 12

“BOOM! Headshot!” crowed Mack gleefully from where he was lounging in the low laying beanbag next to the couch, legs splayed out in front of him as he focused on the game. From a perch up on the couch Melinda smiled at his exuberance and sipped at her tea, legs tucked under her and a tattered old novel held loosely in one hand and mostly forgotten. The common area of the base was empty except for herself, Mack and Fitz, who were both absorbed with their current Call Of Duty game play.

“You’re a little too enthusiastic about all this, considering you don’t even want to go into the field,” said Fitz, his eyes glued to the split screen as he struggled to keep up with Mack.

“Ah, you’re just sour that I’m kicking your ass,” answered Mack, fingers and thumbs moving frantically as he manoeuvred through the digitised battle.

Melinda herself said nothing and neither Mack nor Fitz attempted to draw her into any sort of conversation, understanding that if and when she wanted to talk, they would both be ready to listen then and not before. This attitude was a welcome relief from everyone else’s eager and sometimes overwhelming expectations from her.

It had been two days since Coulson, Skye and Trip had departed on their mission. After one day had passed without word Melinda had sort out Doctor Simmons and questioned her about Skye’s whereabouts and when she might return. Simmons’ answer had been less than satisfactory, a stuttered explanation that basically boiled down to ‘there were complications, they’ll be home later, nothing to worry about’. Which actually accentuated any worry that Melinda already had, rather than ease it. Mack had done more to calm her in that he spoke to her like a civilian rather than a seasoned agents who would simply shrug at the idea of ‘complications’.

“You can’t put a timer on these sort of things,” he’d said, elbow deep in grease as she hovered nearby, still a little ill at ease in the garage. “Some missions are only supposed to take a day and end up taking weeks, maybe months. Other times, you start off ready for a long haul and everything is done and dusted in the hour.” He’d paused and looked right at her then, and she’d had the uncanny feeling that he was truly seeing her as she was, and not as she had been. Not this stoic agent, but just a woman concerned about her friends. “If I hear of any problems, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”

While this had significantly eased her mind it hadn’t lifted the weight of worry completely, and while Melinda was able to feign a cool disinterest in the matter to others she wasn’t able to hide exactly how worried she was to herself, and she was even able to admit that it was a slightly selfish need that drove this concern. Her world was a very small one and the people she knew and cared about could be counted on one hand. What would she do if she lost someone from her small support team? As soon as she thought that she felt a tinge of disgust with herself. They were out there risking their lives for millions of people, and she was getting all upset that they weren’t here walking her through her recovery. Still, she worried. And she found herself worrying particularly about Phil, although by this point she wasn’t too surprised that her thoughts had turned to him without her guidance. She kept thinking about the last time she saw him, at that dinner in his apartment, where she had basically dismissed him from her life. Over and over again she saw the flash of hurt that he so quickly tried to conceal and over and over again she felt a rush of contempt at her actions. She had done this as a way of distancing herself from this confusing man, but now she regretted it in her bones and could hardly wait for his return so she could fully and properly explain herself. No new memories had surfaced in the past few days and she clung to what she had like a life ring in a never ending sea of darkness, replaying in her mind’s eyes over and over and over to the point where she was half convinced she’d made the whole thing up. She wanted to tell him about this, she wasted to see his reaction and hear his explanation, she wanted to know it was real. She just wanted to see him and she was acutely aware that she might not ever see him again. This was a dangerous job. She was walking proof of that.

Her eyes slipped from the television screen to Fitz, his profile clear and his gaze on the screen unbroken and she was quickly reminded that she wasn’t the only casualty of S.H.I.E.L.D. She took in her surroundings for a moment, the quiet lounge and the three very different people gathered down there. Two broken agents and … well, she didn’t really know what Mack was, only that he very much had an attachment to Fitz and treated her like the person she was, something she appreciated. Still, she wondered if Mack was somehow just as broken as the two of them, but just much better at hiding how.

Still, aside from from gnawing uncertainty of the fate of her friends, things weren’t all that bad here at the place they called The Playground. She even had something of a routine to follow. She woke up, preformed some version of tai chi that she could remember, and then wandered down to the communal kitchens for breakfast. More often than not she was joined by Simmons who presence was something between a balm and a strange sort of irritant. She liked the doctor, she really did, but the young woman just seemed so highly strung for reasons that were clearly being hidden from Melinda at this point that any joy she got from sharing her breakfast with someone familiar was overshadowed by this unspoken tension in the air. After this strained meal Melinda would generally head down to the garage with a book and tuck herself quietly into the nearest corner where she could watch all the comings and goings of people who worked there. The book was just an excuse not to talk to people and so far it had worked marvellously. The moment anyone unfamiliar approached her she would hide her face behind the tattered old cover and wait until they went away.

She found herself truly enjoying her time down in this strange environment of steal and sweat and while she wasn’t above admitting that watching someone as fine as Mack work so diligently in such a form fitting shirt was a very pleasurable way to past the time, mostly it was because this place was just how Fitz said it would be. The was activity, but no rush, noise, but it never became overwhelming. Mack was kind and gentle with an easy going humour and Fitz flitted about in his sweet natured way. Here, Melinda felt calm and not nearly as lonely as she was in her room. Here it was … good.

And that’s how she spent her time, eating with Fitz and Mack whenever they felt like and heading back to her own silent little room whenever she felt like it, although she never did too much when she was there. In fact, she’d been unable to bring herself to look through her iPad since the day Skye had flown off, unable to once again stare at all those strange faces without even the help of a guide who could at least put names on them. She wondered if she was being somewhat lazy in her recovery at this stage, but Simmons had reassured her that she should do whatever felt natural.

“Eat when you’re hungry, rest when you’re tired and if you don’t feel like pressing your brain for answers, then don’t,” the softly spoken doctor had reassured her. “You’re body knows what it needs - listen to it.”

This had been sound advice and after only a few days of easy exercise and regular meals Melinda already felt herself getting stronger. Her legs no longer shook after short or even longer walks, and she was now able to sleep the whole night through without any strange, disturbing dreams. Her body was definitely getting better, but her mind … her mind was still as fractured as before.

Still, at least she was in good company. She smiled indulgently down at Mack and Fitz, both men completely unaware of it, before draining the last of her now cold tea and tossing her useless novel to one side. At least she now knew why there were no books in her room, she just couldn’t muster up the focus to get through a work of fiction. Perhaps something with a more factorial base, a biography or something would capture her attention better. Mack noticed her movement and hit the pause button.

“Heading off now, May?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m feeling that it’s time for bed now,” she said, uncurling herself from the couch and stretching luxuriously.

Mack grinned and offered her his controller. “Are you absolutely certain I can’t temp you into at least ten minutes of play?”

“Oh yes, I’m certain,” said Melinda. “Goodnight.”

The men murmured their ‘goodnights’, already drawn back to their game. At the doorway, however, Melinda paused. She didn’t know why, but after listening to the sounds of gunshots and running and explosions … even though she knew they were all fake and even though they hadn’t brought up any new memories, she’d felt … something. Once again a feeling, a notion was passing through her and for some odd reason she already had an idea what it was related to.

Against her better judgement she went back into the room. Mack saw her approaching, and must’ve seen something in her face that showed her concern because he not only stopped the game, but dropped the controller and gave her his full attention. At first Fitz was somewhat confused, but he quickly followed Mack’s lead, watching the whole thing with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Something on your mind?” asked Mack.

“A question, really,” said Melinda, suddenly feeling incredible nervous, as if she was about to head down a path that was forbidden to her. In the next moment she shook that feeling off and went ahead. “I’ve been meaning to ask the two of you … what do you know of The Cavalry?”

Fitz’s eyes went even wider and he rolled his lips together in the manner of someone who had a lot to say and was struggling not to say it. Mack, on the other hand, had almost no reaction to those words, but that in itself was a give away. The way his face became carefully devoid of all expression show Melinda that he was keeping himself in check just as much as Fitz. However, Melinda already knew who would be more likely out of the two of them to give her an answer so she turned a hard stare towards the younger man and in the next second a slew of words poured out.

“Well, I don’t really know, none of us do, all the stories about The Cavalry are all sort of mixed up and - and - and … we can’t tell you,” Fitz ended lamely.

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” demanded Melinda, feeling a definite sense of déjà vu. In the next second, however, as she watched Fitz splutter and struggle to find the words to explain how and why, she felt nothing but regret for putting him in this position. “No, no, it’s okay. I’m sorry Fitz.”

“And we’re sorry too, but we’re under orders,” said Mack quietly.

“What? Who’s orders?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

“Coulson’s.”

At this she couldn’t resist an eye roll. “Coulson. Of course.”

“You don’t seem overly surprised by this,” observed Mack.

Melinda bit her lip a moment in thought before saying, “I’d already asked him, and he told me I wasn’t strong enough to know yet. Which was more than a little patronising.” She frowned at the floor and waited for a chorus of ‘it’s for your own good’ to come from the boys, but when they said nothing she glanced back up. There seemed to be a silent conversation happening between them and after a moment Mack cleared his voice in a somewhat awkward way.

“We get where he was coming from with that order,” he said slowly. “Apparently you hearing the word ‘cavalry’ is what made you collapse in the halls a few days ago.” It didn’t come out quite like a question but Melinda nodded an affirmation anyway. “But at the same time, I’m not a fan of keeping secrets, specially secrets about someone’s past. But … I don’t want to alarm you. I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you. I just …” and at this point he trailed off hopelessly, shooting a glance at Fitz who was nodding along silently.

“It is a difficult dilemma, that it is,” he muttered.

Melinda folded her arms tightly in front of her. “Honestly? The Cavalry is pretty much the only thing that’s sounded familiar at all since I woke up,” _Not quite_ , hissed a little voice. “And good or bad, I just want to know what happened. I just want some real link with my past.”

Towards the end of her sentence her voice became so soft and lost she almost didn’t recognise it, and from the looks on Mack and Fitz’s faces it was a tone they weren’t used to hearing from her either. Mack blew out a long breath and rubbed a hand across his head before speaking.

“I’d tell you, but truth is I don’t know exactly what went down. I don’t think anyone really does, except maybe Coulson. Basically, I don’t want to feed you second hand rumours that’ll just mess up your memory even more. But I do know it was something extraordinary. Legendary. That’s how you became known as The Cavalry. A one woman army.”

Melinda stared. “Wait, _I’m_ The Cavalry?”

“Well, um, yes,” said Fitz, eyes wide. “I thought you at least knew that.”

No, she very much did not. She thought back to her initial reaction of how a wave of fear and pain rose up from deep within her … and she’d thought, she’d just assumed that whatever - whoever - the Cavalry was, it was something that had happened to her. She’d never for one moment thought she was … a nauseous, cold feeling started to clamp down deep in her gut, but she forced he voice to be calm and level. “But, being called The Cavalry … it sounds like such a good title. Why … why would I feel like this to hear it?”

Mack looked up at her with such sympathy that she felt tears start to prick at her eyes. “Because - from everything I’ve heard - you had to do something terrible to earn that title. Whatever it was had you leave the field and get a desk job, and that’s where you stayed until Coulson got you back out again.”

Coulson again. It seemed that Phil was even more wrapped up with her past than what even she’d imagined. He’d been with her at a terribly dark time in her life and he was with her now at another horrible episode. At least, he had been. Until she sent him away. It took her a long moment to realise that her continued silence was making the men very, very nervous. They seemed worried that whatever they’d said might’ve trigged something awful within her. But, aside from a sick feeling that floated inside her like oil on water, this new information brought nothing more to light.

“May, are you …?” Fitz began, but she quickly spoke over him.

“I’m fine, I truly am,” she said. “This … it’s all a lot to take in, but it hasn’t … I don’t remember anything more.”

Mack seemed to almost deflate with relief. “Thank goodness,” he said, and then when he saw the look on her face he clarified, “I don’t think now would be the best time for you to come face to face with your past. Me and Turbo here wouldn’t be the best candidates to help you out.” And although he didn’t say it Phil’s name hung in the air between them.

Melinda sighed then forced a small smile. “Thank you, anyway. For telling me what you know. I mean, I didn’t even know that I was The Cavalry. That’s something.”

“Yeah, but you don’t like to be called that,” said Fitz softly.

Out of all the things she’d heard that night, that was the one thing that did not surprise her in the least.

* * *

 

She’d left Fitz and Mack with their game and gone back to her room alone, her footsteps barely making a sound as she wandered through the midnight quiet base. When she’d reached her room a part of her wanted to stay up and mull over this new information, but her body and her mind cried out for rest and she just couldn’t deal with this vague, sick feeling in her gut any longer. And she knew that it wasn’t just from hearing about her history as The Cavalry. It was her worry about those off on their mission. If she woke up the next morning and there was still no news she felt rather inclined to make a bigger nuisance of herself until she got some answers.

It wasn’t much of a plan for the next day, but it was more than she’d had in a while and even a half thought out plan was a huge comfort, helping her off into an easy sleep.

Until the dreams came.

_There was dirt under her nails and in her eyes, grit that blinded and choked and made just breathing a stinging torture. There was dirt in her mouth, and blood, and bile and she clawed and grasped and twisted like an animal caught in a trap. She was buried, she was being buried alive and she couldn’t breath, couldn’t see and all around her was ash and dust and blood and blood and blood and there was so much blood but it wasn’t her’s but it was all over her and her hands were stained and there was dirt under her nails and blood on her fingers and a deep, dark rumble like the very heavens were opening up and breaking apart before her, a shaking, unnatural -_

Melinda sat bolt upright in bed, every muscle straining to pain, stinging sweat dripping into her wide eyes and her hands clenched so tightly together than her fingernails pierced the skin. She gulped in air as if she’d just been dragged from the bottom of the ocean and looked wildly around her darkened room before fumblingly blindly for a moment and switching on her bedside lamp. For a second the light that flooded into the room grounded her somewhat and almost helped draw her away from that terrible nightmare, but in the next moment her fear came tumbling back as she realised that the deep rumbling was still reverberating all around her, the very walls that closed her in vibrating ever so slightly. Realisation rushed upon her and without even thinking about it she threw her covers off and almost ran out the door, heading straight to the hanger.

It was very late - or very early at this stage, and the base was now completely deserted, but she had had enough time at that stage to have a good idea of how it was set out and so, even if very little lighting and no-one to guide her, Melinda was in the hanger before the jets on the Bus had come to a complete stop, the engines just whirling down as the ramp was lower and a small group of people wandered off. She was breathless with residual fear from her dream and anticipation of the return of those she’d been so worried about, her hands trembling and sticky with sweat and blood. There were two people she didn’t know so she passed over them in an instant. Trip, there was Trip, walking beside Skye, both looking exhausted and a little worn. And there at the back. Her breath caught in her throat. There he was, hands in his pockets and looking like the weight of the world was on his back, with a bright white bandage across his forehead that was already stained with scabbing blood. Phil. He was alive. He was okay. She felt suddenly dizzy with relief and hoped like hell that she wasn’t about to have another fainting spell.

At first the crew from the Bus didn’t notice her, just shuffled into the base in a mechanical fashion that showed fatigue in every motion, although the strange man was still managing to keep up a conversation that the rest of his teammates didn’t seem to be paying much attention to.

“I’m just saying, London isn’t usually that bad,” he said, although his flat tone suggested that he was talking out of habit rather than of having anything to say.

“Well, it was bad enough,” said Phil, his voice tired but still edged with a trace of venom. “Now that we know what he’s after it going to be even more difficult to - Melinda?”

The group pulled up short and stared, and it was only then Melinda realised how she look, dressed only in a singlet and loose pants, her feet bare on the cold concrete, a shiver passing though her every now and then that was only partly to do with the night’s air. Phil was the first the break the spell as he walked slowly towards her, acting as though she might run if he pressed her too soon.

“Melinda?” he asked again, his eyes wide with concern. “It’s four in the morning. What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she blurted out without thinking. “Nothing. I can’t sleep. I heard the plane. And you were gone so long and you - they - I don’t know. _I don’t know_.” Suddenly she felt something crack inside her as she stood trembling under his gaze and tears flooded into her eyes. “I only know what I feel and what I feel makes no sense and there’s no-one here that can tell me, that can help me, and I don’t know who I am and you … you … you were gone. Just gone.” Exhausted, racked with nightmares and half remembered ghosts of her past and now finally so utterly relieved to see her people - Phil - back safe at the base again … she just couldn’t hold anything in any longer. But she tried. Her hands flew to her mouth as hot tears started to roll down her face, and Phil was now staring at her with something like horror in his eyes and she looked again at the bandage on his head and knew that he’d been hurt - that he’d _died_ \- and it hurt to breath and there was that sick feeling back in her gut and without meaning to she tasted the blood on her hands and suddenly she was back in that dream, that nightmare …

She wasn’t even aware that Phil had moved until she felt his arms around her, one across her shoulders pulling her close, the other cupping her head gently as she leant into him, her hands still pressed hard against her mouth and her tears still coming hot and heavy. He didn’t say anything but she could feel his heart beating and the shaky rise and fall of his chest, and as she closed her eyes and dropped her head onto his shoulder she breathed in the scent of him and for some reason this not only calmed her, but made her cry all the more.


	13. Chapter 13

Phil had rarely seen Melinda cry, and never like this. Never with such utter loose of control that he could actually see the sobs shaking her frame as they were pulled from her like poison. He felt a deep, primal fear seeing her this way, a fear that comes when something totally new, unexpected and dreadful crosses your path and for that moment all he could do was hold her as closely and tenderly as possible. He’d felt his knees go weak with relief as she offered no resistance to his touch and pressed herself to him, the skin on her bare arms cold while her tears burned upon his neck. He held her, one hand in her hair, fingertips lightly grazing at her scalp in the same half remembered way his mother used to hold him when he was a child, crying and raging at some long forgotten injury. He held her, rubbing a hand slowly up and down her back in a hopeless attempt to get some warmth back into her body. He held her, and desperately tried not to break down and cry along with her.

In some distance corner of his mind, the detached, trained agent in him noticed numbly that Bobbi, Hunter, Trip and Skye had left, with Skye having to be almost dragged away by Trip. He understood that such a kind soul as Skye would be having difficulty seeing someone in pain and not at least trying to assist, but in this case he was more than grateful for Trip’s intervention. There was nothing Skye could do. At this stage, he wasn’t sure there was very much he could do.

Like a summer storm, so full of rage, noise and destruction yet quickly blown away once it’s energy was spent, Melinda’s tears soon stopped and her hands dropped from her mouth and - to Phil’s shock - curled their way slowly, hesitantly, underneath his arms to link across his back. She kept her face hidden in his shoulder and every now and then a tremor still passed through her, but he could hear her breathing begin to slow down and become even, and her heartbeat, at first so wild and rushed, was now a gentle thud against his own. As she became calm Phil noticed, for the first time, the deep silence that surrounded them in the deserted base, in the middle of the night, and he was suddenly thrown back to a time, barely a week ago, when he’d sat through this same silence in a small hospital room next to her bed, listening to her breath deep and even very much in the same manner she was doing now, yet so fundamentally different as she was now as awake as he, and her breath was ticking at his neck.

Phil felt his stomach flip when he realised that she wasn’t pulling away when more than enough time had passed since her tears had stopped. Through his suit jacket he could feel her fingertips tracing unknowable patterns in the space between his shoulder blades, and he suppressed a shiver as best he could. Why wasn’t she leaving? She could pull away at this point, she should. But she wasn’t. Was … was it possible that she wanted to be here? Here in his arms? But only a few days ago she as good as told him he made her uncomfortable. A creeping doubt entered his mind. She was clearly distraught and emotionally vulnerable, and perhaps he was simply the first warm body she’d found. Maybe she just needed some human contact and right now she would be clinging to anyone with the same unashamed need. Of course. That was it. It couldn’t be him specifically that she wanted. It couldn’t be. He closed his eyes and unintentionally tightened his hold, trying to somehow shelter her or maybe warm her up with his own body heat. Just because she didn’t want him, didn’t mean that he had to be cold and clinical with her. He would give her whatever she needed and wouldn’t think a thing of it.

He had no idea how long they stood there but Melinda was the first to make a move, as always. She sighed and her hands slowly trailed down his back, past his waist, and then they were gone. Phil was left feeling oddly cold without them. She stepped away from his, her eyes downcast, her face splotchy and tear streaked, and without thinking Phil reached into his jacket pocket and wordlessly pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her, their fingers brushing as she took it. She wiped at her face and then fidgeted with the material, the silence between them slowly growing awkward and strange, considering just how close the two of them had been only moments before. This served to prove Phil’s theory, though. It wasn’t him specifically she wanted.

When she spoke, her voice sounded small and raw. “I’m cold.”

“I’ll take you back to your room,” said Phil automatically, and almost stared off in that direction before he saw her shaking her head.

“No,” she said, then cleared her throat, her voice becoming a little stronger. “No, I can’t go back there, not tonight.”

Phil frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Melinda shrugged, twisting the handkerchief almost dangerously. “It’s too quiet, too cold. I … I can’t go back. Not tonight. Please.” With that last word she finally raised her eyes to his and the pain, fear and confusion he saw there almost made him reach out and draw her near again.

Instead he pressed his lips together and nodded. Detached. Professional. “Okay. We can find somewhere else. I’m sure Skye -”

“I want to go to your room.”

 _What?_ “What?”

She stared intently at him as if searching for something in his face, her lips trembling from something more than the cold. “Can I sleep in your room for the rest of the night? I … oh …” she trailed off, thinking about what she was asking. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own place but … but I don’t … I can’t be alone. Please.”

“Oh … okay,” Phil agreed, his voice calm but his mind spinning a million miles an hour. She wanted to go to his room. With him. Specifically. He had no idea what was going on and was saved from completely freezing on the spot by simply following his main directive - do whatever Melinda wants. When he agreed she managed a tiny, watery smile, but a smile nonetheless, and Phil felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. As they turned to walk through the base he shrugged off his jacket and placed it carefully around her shoulders, where she in turn clutched it close to her.

They reached his quarters without one word passing between them. Once there Melinda made a beeline for a seat at his table where they had shared a meal, and tucked her feet underneath her as if it was the most natural place in the world for her to be. Not really knowing what else to do but absolutely quivering with the need to do something, Phil went over to his kitchen, put the kettle on, and started to rummage around in the back space of his cupboards. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, being a coffee man himself, but he knew Melinda loved her tea and so he had a special blend that he knew she favoured tucked away. He always brought it out on those long nights filling in paperwork or, more recently, at the end of a long night of carving and chronicling. He paused a moment as he thought back to those not so long past days when he had come so very close to loosing his mind and the only thing that had truly held him together had been the woman who was now quietly sitting just behind him. She had done so much for him that he was sure he’d never be able to truly repay that debt.

When she spoke her voice was like a pebble that had been dropped into a still pool, rippling gently through the silence between them. “I had a bad dream.”

Phil turned to face her, folding his arms. Bad dreams. Something neither of them were strangers to. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

Melinda frowned and absently pulled his jacket closer to her. “My dreams never really seem to be of events. They’re more … sensations. Emotions.” She swallowed and looked down. “I feel mostly fear. And loss. And … and almost like there’s a sickness deep inside me. And then I wake up, and I’m all alone and not just because there’s no-one else in the room with me. There’s no-one in my head either.” Her expression turned pensive. “We all carry people with us, the good and the bad, the people who anger us and those we love.” Did he imagine that her voice seemed to catch on that last word? “We carry them in our memories and draw on them when we need to. In a way we can keep them constantly in our heads and in our hearts, and they stay with us wherever we go.” She stopped and sighed. “If we are the sum of our memories … then what does that make me?”

“You’re still the same incredible person you’ve always been,” said Phil, fighting against the tightness in his throat. “You’re still brave, you’re still kind, you’re still … Melinda.” He stopped, unsure what else to say, unsure if he should say something else. For a long moment she just stared at him. And then she smiled.

Soon the water was boiled and he made his way to join her at the table with two mugs, one which she appreciatively wrapped her colds hands around and softly blew against the steam. After a quick sip she made a sound of contentment and closed her eyes, savouring the flavour.

“This is delicious,” she said. Suddenly her eyes flew open and Phil felt his heart rate skyrocket at the look of recognition he saw there.

“Do you remember something?” he asked anxiously.

The look faded and she smile sheepishly. “Not so much but … I know this. This,” she emphasised, waving her hand around the room. “Sitting here, you with, late at night, drinking this particular type of tea. We’ve done this before, haven’t we?”

Phil couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Oh yes. Many, many times.”

Melinda smiled happily, almost bouncing in her seat. “It feels good. To know something for sure. I can’t remember any particulars, but I know that it has happened. And that’s something.”

Phil smiled and sipped at his own tea, but as Melinda placed her mug back on the table his smile vanished as he saw small red streaks on the porcelain. “Are you bleeding?”

Melinda blinked and looked down at her hands almost as if she’d forgotten them. “Oh … well …”

In an instant Phil was on her side of the table, kneeling in front of her chair and taking both her hands in his, palms up, looked them over. He was horrified to see deep, crescent cuts in both her palms where her nails had bit into her own skin, clearly the result of her nightmares. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“They don’t really hurt …” Phil shot her a look. “ … that much.” She ended lamely. Phil saw her gaze travel up his face to the bandage on his head. She frowned and pursed her lips. “Besides, it doesn’t seem like anything compared to what happened to you.” She paused. “What did happen to you?”

Phil sighed, his hands still cupping hers lightly, fighting the temptation to rub his thumbs against the inside of her wrists. “Well, you told me yours, it’s only fair that I tell you mine.” He got up and walked back to the kitchen, bringing back a first-aid kit. “Two of our agents, Morse and Hunter, were in London trailing a man known as Carrington.”

  Melinda nodded. “Yeah, Skye and Trip told me about him. That he … he was the one responsible for the explosion that did this.” She pointed at her head.

Phil swallowed and nodded, kneeling before her and taking one of her hands in his as he carefully, gently stared the clean away the half congealed blood from her palm. And he only just imagined a shiver pass through her. “So you can guess why we were all eager to catch the son of a bitch,” he said. “But the whole flight over I just couldn’t understand why someone as highly wanted as Carrington would just turn up in the city with the most cameras in the world.”

“He was trying to draw someone out,” said Melinda, and Phil looked up in surprise. A wry grin twisted her lips. “I can still think logically.”

“Well, you’re right. When we landed, all hell broke loose. Turns out the man Bobbi and Hunter were tailing was not Carrington, but a double. And Carrington himself had locked onto the Bus’ signal the moment we hit British airspace. He was waiting for us when he landed, and a group jumped us at the Bus at the same time a second group attempted to take out Bobbi and Hunter. It was a trap. That’s when this happened,” he indicated to his head. “A bullet from a sniper rifle grazed me, knocked me out cold. Good thing he underestimated our team, though. It was a quick firefight that ended in a quick retreat, and no matter how had we look in the last couple of days, we haven’t been able to find a trace of them. But … if Trip and Skye hadn’t had been on the Bus with me … well …” He shrugged and trailed off, letting the unspoken hang between them, and focused on wrapping a light gauze around Melinda’s hand before moving to the other one. But before he could take a hold of it Melinda reached out, her fingers gently touching his chin, drawing his gaze upwards to hers. Phil froze and for a moment all the two of them could do was look at each other and suddenly his heart started thundering in his chest at such a speed he was shocked she couldn’t hear it. Because, for the first time since she awoke she was again looking at him just like she had before. Before the explosion and the coma and the memory loss. Before everything. As he knelt before her, her injured hand gently cupping his cheek, he felt that she was really, truly seeing him for the first time. Seeing him as simply as Phil. Her friend. Her …

Without warning she lent forward and, just next to the bandage, placed a single, soft kiss.

Phil couldn’t move, couldn’t breath. He had no idea how much time passed. Seconds. Eons. He closed his eyes against the tears he could suddenly feel there.

When she finally lent back she spoke, and her words were slow and even. “I am very, very glad that you’re okay.”

Phil had no idea what to say to that. He didn’t know what to think. So he decided an action might be better. He took her hand from his face and with both his hands held her small, cold fingers, turning it so the back was facing up. He didn’t think about it, just pressed his lips quickly to her knuckles before turning it palm up and attending to her cuts. He worked without words, without even daring to look up at her face, and soon her cuts where cleaned and bandaged. But still he hesitated, his fingers playing with her bandaged, her own hand laying quietly in his. He couldn’t let go of her just yet, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

As always, Melinda made the first move.

“We’re both tired,” she said simply. “I just want a night without fear.”

Finally Phil looked up. “I can’t promise you that.”

She smiled.

Much later that evening - or morning, by that stage - Phil and Melinda lay side by side in Phil’s double bed, Melinda tucked safely under the covers and Phil laying on top. He didn’t know exactly what was going on here, but he was pretty damn certain they weren’t at the spooning stage. Still, when Melinda had rolled over in her sleep, just as the first rays of dawn started creeping past his curtained windows, and had curled her hand against his collar bone, he didn’t feel as though it’d be crossing any boundaries if he reached up and placed his own hand over hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've yet to see 2x17, but I have a feeling a bit of this might be needed. I'm moving into the second part of this story so there's going to be a lot more Philinda from now on.
> 
> Once again thank you all so much for reading! :)


	14. Chapter 14

When Melinda awoke she felt … rested. Well and truly rested. Her sleep had been deep and undisturbed by any half formed phantoms from her subconscious or intrusions from the outside world. She felt so calm and warm and so very deeply relaxed that it took her more than a moment to realise that she wasn’t in her own room. Opening her eyes at first all she saw was the blurred outline of bundled sheets and shapes, but after blinking them clear of sleep a face came into focus. Right next to her, sleeping on his side just as she was, was Phil. His face was relaxed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, still dressed in black dress pants with a white shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar, and he was laying above the covers, something he’d insisted on. Melinda had found this unbearably cute and old fashioned, and somehow not at all surprising.

Her mind wandered back to the night before. She didn’t know what had possessed her to kiss Phil’s temple, but all she knew was that it had felt right. It had truly felt like the right thing to do. He’d been kneeling in front of her, like a knight errant, focused on dressing her wounds and describing his near fatal encounter in such a casual, matter-of-fact tone that it almost broke her heart to listen to it. He’d been in very real danger - he’s nearly been killed - and yet he spoke of it as dispassionately as one might the weather. Was this normal for him? Was this normal for her? She’d wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, tell him that he needed to be careful out there, that his life wasn’t some replaceable commodity to be thrown away. She’d wanted to throw her arms around him and keep him safe. She’d wanted … she’d wanted to kiss him. But not on the forehead. Bursting with the need to convey at least some of those strange emotions Melinda had quickly lent forward and kissed him, a very chaste thing that lasted only a second but hopefully managed to say what she herself could not formulate into words. He’d frozen under her touch and more a horrible moment she thought she’d once again completely misjudged the situation, but then he’d taken her hand and … well, it seemed like he didn’t really mind all that much.

She lay quietly by his side, close but not touching, her eyes tracing every line and curve of his face with a slow luxury that was afforded to her while he slept. She’d seen him, obviously, stared at his face in a vain attempt to remember something about her former life, but she hadn’t yet taken the chance to really look at him. The lines on his forehead and around his mouth were set and deep, etched there by time and care. This was a face well done with youth, worn and shaped by the years of use, but it was the fine lines around his eyes that really drew her attention. Laughter lines. This was a man who smiled and smiled often, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach she realised that she hadn’t seen him smile too much around her. She could guess why.

The temptation to reach out and draw her fingertips along those weathered lines was very strong, so much so that she thought the best thing to do at that moment was to get out of bed and remove herself from the situation. While last night had seen a definite shift in their relationship she was fairly certain that he wouldn’t really appreciate waking up to find her touching him in such a way.

She tentatively crawled out from under the sheets, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floor, and tiptoed to the bathroom. After she’d washed up she peaked back into the main room, noting that Phil was still sleeping peacefully, although he seemed to have rolled over somewhat in those few minutes she’d been gone and was now on more of her side of the bed. She was glad that he hadn’t done that while they’d been sleeping. Waking up side by side had been lovely, but she had no idea what her reaction would’ve been if she’d woken up with him practically on top of her. Without meaning to her mind suddenly spun into overdrive as her traitorous imagination decided to show her what might’ve happened if she were to wake up with Phil wrapped around her, his body pressed hard to hers, hands splayed on her sides, lips at her neck …

She quickly decided that a round of Tai Chi was probably the best thing for her right now.

Positioning herself where she would most defiantly not be staring at Phil’s sleeping form she began her routine, allowing the motions to sooth and calm her, and slowly her body’s reaction to those unexpected imaginings began to fade. As she focused on her movements she felt herself being slowly draw out of her complicated mind and more into the environment around her. It was later in the morning than what she usually awoke and she could hear the far off movements that indicted that the base was awake and active. In Phil’s room, there was also the added buzz of traffic from a nearby street which showed a drawback to this larger room that she hadn’t noticed before. And those far off noises weren’t the only thing rising to wakefulness. Even though she’d made a point of facing away from him she was still hypersensitive to his presence and she realised that at some point during her routine he’d woken up, although he was yet to move from the bed. In fact, it was only on instinct that Melinda even knew that he was now awake and watching her. Perhaps it was a change in his breathing or the slight shifting in the sheets, but she knew he was awake as she could most definitely could feel his eyes on her. But he didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched. Melinda’s hands shook almost imperceptibly as they moved. A part of her questioned this voyoristic behaviour, but she wasn’t disturbed by it in the least. Actually, what she felt was the complete opposite of disturbed. His eyes on her made her feel …

And she quickly clamped down on that train of thought before her imagination decided to give her an encore of previous unasked for fantasies.

Still, she decided that could have a little fun with this. When she finished her routine she paused a second before whipping her head around to catch Phil springing up in bed, swinging his legs over the sides and trying with all his might to present a scene in which had had not just been staring at Melinda. He looked so flustered, a hand trying vainly to smooth his hair down and make himself look vaguely presentable that Melinda couldn’t contain a small bubble of laughter that burst from her lips, laughter which in turn made Phil smile somewhat sheepishly.

“Good to see you’re finally awake,” she said in way of greeting.

“Yeah,” he said. “I usually sleep pretty heavily after a mission. Particularly one that results in something like this.” He gingerly raised a hand to prod at his head wound, wincing slightly. Almost talking to himself he said, “I really need to stop getting hit in the head.”

“You make a habit of this?” asked Melinda, folding her arms.

“Not intentionally,” said Phil, standing up and making his way to the kitchen. “But it’s all part of the job.”

The job. Such a violent, dangerous occupation. Melinda could feel the calm she’d just attained from her Tai Chi begin to erode and she gave herself a mental shake and tried to draw her mind away from such dark thoughts. She followed Phil over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watched as he began to pull various items out. “So are you going to make me breakfast, too?” she asked, surprising even herself at the playful note in her voice. It seemed one good night of sleep could work wonders.

Phil noticed her tone, but aside from a sightly raised eyebrow didn’t comment on it. “I’d be a pretty poor host if I just kicked you out the door hungry.”

“So you’re going to kick me out the door well fed, then?”

“It’s the polite thing to do.”

They shared a smile and for a few minutes she just watched him prepare their meal. If he was disturbed by her staring he didn’t show it.

“I feel kinda bad,” she said after a while. “You keep fixing me something to eat, but for some reason I have no inclination to return the favour.” She titled her head to give an expecting look. Phil smiled as he cracked a few eggs into a simmering pan.

“You’re a terrible cook,” he said bluntly, but she didn’t find herself annoyed at this assessment. Rather, she felt satisfaction at a confirmation of something she’d come to suspect about herself, and unknown to Phil this gave her confidence in other things she suspected. “But you’re so terrible that it’s almost a privilege to watch you try. Honestly, I never knew it was possible to burn water but it seems that even the laws of physics won’t even work when you get near a stove.”

Melinda shrugged, unperturbed. “Then I’d best stay away,” she said airily, wandering away back into the apartment, not failing to see Phil’s small smile as she did. She felt a need to do something so she quickly remade the bed with an efficiency that she’d mastered after only a few tries on her own bed, something she’d clocked to a life in a strict, militant like job and muscle memory. Then she went and flung the curtains open, revealing noting more than a red-bricked wall a few feet away, but it did allow a stream of warm, golden sunlight to stream into the room. Melinda paused, her face to the sun, and for a moment she simply enjoy the warmth she felt envelope her entire body.

At the sound of crockery hitting wood she turned around to see Phil placing two plates heaped with food on the table. But his attention was not on the food he’d been carrying. He’d been staring at her. Again. “Sorry,” he said, looking away. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so …” He trailed off, closing his lips sharply to keep whatever he was thinking inside.

Melinda turned and slowly walked towards him. “I looked so … what?” she asked softly. Phil blinked and his expression became caged, as if he was already thinking of a way to get out of answering that question. She sighed and stopped right in front of him. “Phil … I feel like I’ve been going crazy this past week. I like logic. I like facts. But at this moment I have none of that at my disposal. All I have is what I feel, about people, about certain words or actions. And my feelings … they’re strong. Overwhelming, sometimes.” Her mind flashed to The Cavalry and she suppressed a shiver. “But that’s all they are. Feelings. And because I can’t prove them or relate them back to something in my own mind, I feel inclined to dismiss them. Like I … like I dismissed you.” She paused, searching his face. He seemed frozen as he stared down at her, his breath short and shallow, his eyes almost overflowing with some kind of emotion she was almost scared to identify. “When I said I wanted you to step back … I lied.” His eyes widened. “I didn’t do it for you, to ease your mind or to relieve you of some sort of responsibility. I did it for myself. I did it because of what I was feeling about you, because all those emotions made things too complicated, or I was too afraid to think too much what they might mean or … I don’t know. You … you make me feel …” She threw her head back slightly and gave a strained laugh. “See? Even now I can’t exactly say what it is exactly that I feel for you. But all these half spoken things between us have been spinning around in my head and I don’t know how to make sense of them so, what I need right now from you is words. I need to know what you feel, how you feel about me, otherwise all these emotions inside me just won’t make any sense. So, please,” she stepped forward so they were only inches away from one another. “Please just tell me … how did I look to you?”

Phil stared at her, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly. The silence between them deepened and for a terrible moment Melinda thought he wasn’t going to answer her. But then he took a deep breath.

“Beautiful. You looked beautiful.”

And just like that something in her world shifted into place and everything started to make just a little more sense. She let out a shaky breath. Beautiful. He’d called her beautiful. She already knew objectively that she wasn’t a bad looking person and to think of herself as beautiful wasn’t so much vain as a fact, but the way he said it … she’d understood straight away that he wasn’t just talking about her face or her frame. The way he was looking at her right now, the way his voice almost caressed those few words … when he looked at her he was seeing a beauty that was deeper and more luminous than anything on the physical surface. He was seeing everything about her, all their long history, everything she was and had been and could be. And he thought she was beautiful. And just like that she knew.

He loved her.

And she …

She …

She fell past those last few inches of space between them and dropped her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her ear to his heart. His arms came up to encircle her, one across her back, his fingers in her hair, his face turned ever so slightly so his lips grazed her forehead.

“We mean more than a lot to each other, don’t we?” she asked, and she felt his arms tighten around her. “Why didn’t you just say earlier?”

“Because we never said those words to each other,” said Phil, his voice cracking over the words. “Even before your accident there was so much that was unsaid between us, things that we barely acknowledged, let alone acted on. Our jobs … what we do makes any sort of attachment difficult to say the least and in the end I guess we just found it easier to stay friends, colleagues.” He drew in a shuddering sigh, his fingers pressing into her as if he could never get her close enough. She didn’t mind, and closed her eyes as she held him. “And then this happened. The whole time I was waiting for you to wake up I promised you - and myself - that I wouldn’t let this silence continue, that I would tell you.”

“But then I woke up like this,” said Melinda sadly. “This empty shell.”

“No,” Phil drew back so he could look her in the eye, his expression fierce. “No. You are not empty. There’s so much of you that’s still the same that there are times when I completely forget that the past month ever happened. You’re still the same person I -” And here he cut off, but Melinda didn’t mind. For the first time she knew what was unspoken between them, knew it in her heart and her soul, and was happy to keep that part of them quiet for the meantime. She didn’t want to rush any of this. He continued. “You’re a fighter, Melinda, and I know that you’ll get through this too.”

She smiled up at him. “As long as you’re there to help me.”

He returned the smile, a full blown grin that deepened the lines around his eyes, the first one she’d seen from him. “Trust me, Melinda, I will always be by your side.”


	15. Chapter 15

Compared to the wave of emotions the two of them had just ridden out, breakfast was a rather subdued affair. They both sat quietly opposite each other and ate, and in many ways it was very much the same as their previous dinner had been with the only noises between them being the sounds of metal scraping cutlery, with the far off hum of the operational base providing constant background noise. The big difference, however, was how Melinda’s hand lay gently atop Phil’s, her fingers lightly tracing his knuckles in a repetitive motion that served to sooth both of them. She didn’t know exactly why, but she most definitely had a fascination with Phil’s hands. The texture of his skin, the shape and curve of them, and for once she didn’t feel the need to somehow explain or justify the contentment she got from holding his hand. For once she was purely satisfied to experience this without looking for a reason as to why it felt so good.

A brisk knock at the door served to pull them both out of their silent musings and after a glance at Melinda and a quick wipe of his mouth Phil rose to answer. Neither of them were overly surprised to see Skye walk into the room, looking more than a little apprehensive with her fingers twisted in front of her. The moment she caught sight of Melinda she visibly relaxed although she did continue to wring her hands in a nervous manner, something Melinda was sure she wasn’t even aware she was doing.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” said Skye as a way of greeting.

“Yes, she is, and so am I. Good morning, Skye,” said Phil pointedly. Melinda didn’t even both hiding a smirk.

Skye at least had the grace to look slightly ashamed as she turned to Phil and offered him a very perfunctory and somewhat sarcastic, “Good morning, sir, I hope you slept well,” before turning back to Melinda. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all. I went to your room earlier but … yeah, you obviously weren’t there.”

“And this was the next place you thought to look?” asked Melinda, and although she directed this question at Skye her small smile was very much meant for Phil, a smile that elicited a half shrug from him as he casually went and collected the empty breakfast plates and carried them back to the kitchenette, a move that was obviously supposed to give the two women some space. Skye’s perceptive nature did not miss this little exchange and her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Well, yeah,” she said, her gaze tracking steadily back between Melinda and Phil. “It’s just, after last night … like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Like so many times before Melinda felt her heart warm at Skye’s simple and kind gesture, and she rose from her chair to walk to her, untwisting her nervous hands and holding them in her own. “I’m very well, Skye, but thank you for checking up on me.”

Skye squeezed her hands back, concern still not quite erased from her eyes. “Last night you seemed … I’ve never seen you like that.”

Melinda’s hands twitched in Skye’s as she recalled exactly how she felt last night - that cold feeling across her skin and deep in her bones, that terrible, sickening fear that was left from that indescribable nightmare, the blood on her hands and the unexpected taste of it in her mouth …

… the feeling of Phil’s arms wrapped around her, holding tight, his breath against her cheek, the weight of him laying next to her in bed, eyes only half closed as he remained awake until she drifted off first …

“Well, last night wasn’t exactly my most memorable night,” said Melinda. Over at the sink she heard a heavy thud as the frying pan somehow slipped out of Phil’s hands as he was washing it. While Skye twitched curiously towards the sound, she ignored it. “I had night terrors and was … well, I wasn’t myself.”

“But …?” prompted Skye.

“But …” Melinda cast a glance over at Phil, still standing at the sink with his back to them, yet so obviously focused on everything they were saying. She knew it, and she knew Skye most definitely was paying attention. And yet she didn’t care. “But, lets just say that the night ended on a high note.” And then she lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner and leaned closer, Skye’s eyes widening as she did. “And the morning started on an even higher note.”

Skye’s eyebrows slowly crept upward until her face became almost comical. “I …. don’t know what to say to that,” she stuttered.

Melinda allowed just a few more seconds of staring unblinkingly into Skye’s eyes, letting things become just a little too weird before she drew back and grinned, the tension between them melted away. Realising she’d just been played Skye let out a shocked puff of laughter.

“Oh … okay, that was weird. That was so very, very weird,” she said, letting go of Melinda’ hands, backing away and folding her arms as she gave Melinda an incredulous stare, one that was answered with a playful grin. At least she seemed less anxious now.

“I’m good, Skye,” said Melinda more seriously. “But I do feel rather … underdressed. Do you mind walking with me back to my quarters?”

“No, not at all,” said Skye, although she did cast an obvious glance in Phil’s direction. Over at the kitchenette he’d just finished the washing up and was now turning to face the two of them again, rolling his sleeves back down.

“May,” he called out. “Just before you go … do you have any plans for today?” At the pointed look she gave him he grimaced slightly and nodded. “Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I was wondering if … after you’re dressed … you’d like to come back here.”

Skye was nearly quivering with unasked questions as Melinda casually shrugged and said, “Sure. Why?”

“I was thinking of heading out of the base for a bit, get some fresh air. I don’t think you’ve left the premise since …”

“Since I woke up,” supplied Melinda as he stumbled over the last part of the sentence. “You’re right, I haven’t been out. That sounds lovely. I’ll be back as soon as I’m ready.”

Phil gave her one of his small, controlled smiles and nodded once as she and Skye left, but just before the door closed behind her she glanced once over her shoulder to see that smile evolve into a full grin that she knew was meant for her eyes only.

The walk back to her apartment was a quiet one, something she had to compliment Skye’s restraint on. The younger woman was clearly thrown at this new, playful intimacy that Melinda and Phil had shown just now, and Melinda could tell that she was just bursting with the need to discover all that had happened between the two of them from the time she saw Melinda break down in the cargo bay last night to when she walked into Phil’s quarters to find them just finishing a very friendly breakfast together this morning. However, she seemed to be very aware that the middle of a bustling S.H.E.I.L.D corridor probably wasn’t the best place to have that conversation and she at least managed to wait until they were properly secluded in Melinda’s room before letting loose a barrage of questions.

“Okay, what the hell?” she started the moment the door’s latch clicked behind them. Melinda just gave her a quizzical glance before going to her cupboard and rummaging through her clothes, pulling out a pair of navy pants and a loose fitting white blouse. It was simple but it seemed like the best option today. For once, she didn’t really feel like wearing black.

“Is that a question or just a broad statement?” she asked as she laid her clothes out on her bed where the sheets were still twisted and crumpled from last night’s phantoms. Her mouth went tight at the memory and she set about putting the sheets to order.

“Sorry, I’m just so confused right now,” said Skye. “Last time I saw you and Coulson together you two were … it was super awkward. And on the plane Coulson told me -” She quickly cut off and bit her lip. Melinda felt a cold finger go up and down her spine as she easily guessed what Phil had told her. He’d probably relayed the same things she’d said to him earlier that week, about how she didn’t want his help. She could only guess how confusing news like that would be for Skye. “Well, lets just say I didn’t expect the two of you to be so … whatever you were, this morning.”

Melinda finished straightening her bed and turned to face Skye. “For the last couple of days, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. Time to think. And last night after … after you saw me in the hanger, Phil and I had a chance to talk, really talk.” Melinda shrugged and folded her arms in front of her in an almost defensive way. “I’ve come to realise that the biggest issue to my recovery is the lack of words exchanged between all of us. I think it’s just human nature, that we can communicate without words, using just our history and our deep, intimate knowledge of each other to say things with our actions and with our eyes but … I don’t have that history. In many ways I feel locked out of so much that happens here, right down to the little looks shared between you and Trip and Simmons. Phil and I finally came to an understanding last night and … we talked. Extensively. And now so many things have become so clear for me.” She paused and smiled. “It’s wonderful.”

Skye, however, looked distraught. “I didn’t know I was locking you out …”

“No, no!” said Melinda quickly. “I’d never think that. It’s just, I’ve realised what it is I need for my recovery now. And that’s everything stated, explain and confirmed. Which is going to be awkward, but it just helps everything make so much more sense to me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, yes of course,” said Skye instantly, although Melinda wasn’t exactly expecting an answer to the negative anyway.

She smiled. “Thank you, Skye. But … I’m pretty sure I can get myself dressed at this point.”

Skye blinked and looked around her as if she’d only just realised that she was still standing in the middle of Melinda’s room, and Melinda herself was still dressed only in her PJ’s. “Ah, right. Yeah, I’m pretty sure you got this from here,” she said, backing away towards the door. “Have fun with Coulson on your … outing.” She suddenly jabbed a finger in her direction in a stern fashion. “And I expect him to bring you home by ten, young lady!” When all she got from Melinda was a raised eyebrow her grin became embarrassed and she quickly exited the room. Only once she was gone did Melinda let out a hearty laugh as she headed for the shower. She hadn’t felt this light and free since … well, since she could remember.

* * *

 

Phil couldn’t remember the last time he took Lola out, just for the pure exhilaration of the ride. He’d customised and modified her engine, shocks, breaks, added boosters for flying and even an underwater setting that converted her into a midget sub, but aside from missions and stake outs, escapes and attacks, he couldn’t think of a time when he’d just sat behind the wheel and drove. It was a spectacular day with a hot sun and a cool breeze, and as they hurled down the highway that led out of town to some winding back roads he knew weren’t frequented too much he allowed himself to drift a little, his world becoming focused purely on the purr of the engine, the smooth gear changes, the way she moved at the slightest touch of the steering wheel and of course, the woman reclining in the passenger seat.

He’d spent almost as much time staring at her as he’d been concentrating on the road. When they’d first left the base she’d been wide-eyed, sitting bolt upright and drinking in everything around her so much so that’d he’d become slightly worried that this might be a little too overwhelming. But as they’d moved out of town and onto the freeway she’d relaxed as they’d picked up speed and now she was laying back in her seat, face tilted upwards to the sun and eyes closed as she just enjoyed the ride. Phil wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep, or just drifting along to fragmented thoughts the same as him, but all he knew was that she looked peaceful. So aside from Lola’s engine and the wind whipping past, not a sound passed between them.

The Playground was a safe place, somewhere secret and secure where they could hide from the world when they weren't protecting it, but nothing they did to the inside could ever really disguise the fact that it was an intimidating, dark building, a place that was both cavernous and claustrophobic. It felt wonderful to be out in the open again and even if every other minute he felt the need to check over his shoulder and make sure they weren’t being followed it still didn’t take away from how good it felt just to be out in the sunshine again.

An hour of driving saw them pass the city limits and a few predetermined turns lead them from the bustle of the freeway to the more sedate back roads. Slowly the wended their way upwards until, just after midday, Phil pulled off the road, down a path that was little more than a track, and finally stopped at an old tourist lookout that he knew was hardly used anymore - at least by the tourists. The place was too far off the road to attract any casual passer-bys but with it’s easy access to town and it’s breathtaking views of the city he was fairly certain that the youth of the day still came to this spot well after dark. As he shut off the engine he stole yet another glance at Melinda, who was now slowly beginning to open her eyes. Even in his youth Phil had never passed that milestone of taking a girl somewhere late at night for a hot and heavy make out session, but he figured … well, he wasn’t dead yet.

Melinda yawned and stretched slowly, taking in her surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Milson’s Point Lookout,” said Phil, getting out of the car to stretch his own legs, walking towards the edge of the cliff face where a solid fence marked the boundary between the land and the open air. “It’s quiet, out of the way and the view is something else.” There was the sound of the door opening and closing and soon Melinda was standing by his side, staring out at the city spread before them and the perfectly clear blue sky above.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. She took in a deep breath and stretched her hands above her head, a silly smile creeping onto her face. “This is wonderful! I didn’t realise how cooped up I felt in that place until I got out.”

“When you get used to things being a certain way any change is welcome,” said Phil, thoroughly enjoying watching Melinda unwind and relax. For a while the two of them leaned against the fence and looked out, simply enjoying the warmth and the quiet. Phil was just letting himself drift again when Melinda’s voice brought him back.

“I remembered something, while you were away.”

Phil as suddenly all alertness, turning to lean his back against the railing so he could better look at Melinda’s face. “What was it?”

She turned to look deeply into his eyes. “You.”

Just like that the world became a little more colourful. Phil tried his best to contain his excitement as he answered with a casual, “Oh?”

However, judging from the little eyeroll Melinda shot him, he hadn’t been as cool as he’d hoped. “Calm down, it isn’t much,” she said with a small smirk. “It came to me the first time I tried Tai Chi. I remembered doing my routine and you were there, watching and talking. I … I can’t remember exactly what you were talking about but … but it made me feel …” She trailed off, her eyes becoming distant.

“How did it make you feel?” he prompted gently, his question bringing her back to the moment.

“Honestly? I did feel a little annoyed,” she said, her smile relieving him of most of his embarrassment. “But mostly I felt … happy. Calm. Like everything was normal and right with the world.” She stopped suddenly and gave a little laugh, turning so her own back was against the railing too, their shoulders brushing against one another. “It’s weird, that little memory is only like a second long, but … it’s real. It’s something real from my past. I mean,” she tripped over her words slightly. “I mean, I think it’s real. Is it?”

“It is,” confirmed Phil. “But I can’t tell you exactly when or where this happened because it happened quite a lot.”

“Why?”

Phil blew out a sigh and crossed his arms, the movement jostling Melinda slightly although she didn’t make a move to pull away. What she needed was honest words which were somewhat difficult for him, but he’d never shied from a challenge before. “Why? Lots of little reasons, really. Back at the Academy we used to work out together, although I was never really a yoga person. That … yeah, that never worked for me. So I guess it’s part habit, and part problem solving. I go to you to work things out and you’re always able to help me see things clearly.”

“But,” said Melinda slowly, thinking about that. “I don’t remember talking.”

Phil smiled. “You don’t need to talk to say exactly what you want to say,” he said playfully. “And also … honestly … I just like watching you. When you’re relaxed, I’m relaxed and … and that sounds a little creepy, doesn’t it?”

Melinda just moved closer and tucked her hand under his folded arms, linking them together. “No. Not to me, anyway.” Phil reached over and placed his hand on top of hers as they again lapsed into silence before Melinda drew a breath and spoke. “I do have a question, though.”

Phil tilted his head to one side. “Ask.”

She drew back a little, still holding onto his arm but now she was able to look him straight in the eye, and what he saw in her was a seriousness that made his back stiffen. “I want to ask you about the day you died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard.
> 
> Don't know why but this chapter was a pain to knock out, so I hope it isn't too lacking and is still enjoyable.
> 
> Quick personal update - if you saw news about those storms in Sydney last week, well, that's where I was. Deep irony was that I was picking up my motorbike from the smash repairs and actually got caught in the worst of it, although it turns out a motorbike is better at dodging fallen trees than cars. Thankfully I wasn't involved in any more accidents. That and a few other things have made writing a pain this week, but I hope to do better soon.
> 
> Once again thank you all so very much for reading and enjoying this! I hope your week is better than mine! :)
> 
> EDIT: And I know there's nothing in canon that says Lola has an underwater setting, but I'm calling it right now.


	16. Chapter 16

Melinda wasn’t exactly sure what Phil’s reaction to her question would be. A part of her was worried that he’d completely shut her down, like he did when she’d asked about The Cavalry, and a larger part was more concerned that he might find this line of questioning too personal or even too painful to talk about, even with her. So she was a little surprised when all she got from him was a soft sigh as he looked down to where her hand was tucked around his arm.

“I was hoping I could tell you about that before someone else did,” he said quietly.

“I don’t actually know much about it,” said Melinda. “In fact, aside from the whole ‘you died’, I don’t know anything. Trip just let it slip just before he went and I didn’t want to ask anyone else about it.”

Phil nodded, still looking down as he began to absently play with the tips of her fingers. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. “But … I don’t know how to tell this story. I’m … I don’t …” He sighed and looked up. “Just after it happened, when I was again walking around all fit and healthy, I had a tendency to be blasé about the whole thing. If you’d’ve asked me this over a year ago I would’ve bluntly told you I’d been stabbed, died for forty seconds, and was then brought back from the brink but now …”

“Now …?” Melinda echoed.

“Now, it’s all a bit more complicated than that, and … and you deserve better than a half formed answer.”

Melinda’s only reaction to that was to lean back against the railing and tuck herself even closer to Phil’s side, so much so that she could feel the heat of him through her jacket. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile cross his face before he looked back down again, and she could viably see him carefully forming the words before he spoke. “It happened a few years ago. We were facing a global catastrophe, and I know that’s a heavy phrase but trust me when I say I’m not exaggerating. Melinda … has anyone talked to you about the stranger side of S.H.I.E.L.D?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, has anyone mentioned the word ‘alien’ yet?”

Melinda blinked, frowned, and turned again to look at his face. He seemed completely serious. “‘Alien’? As in, outer space?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Once again her world was thrown just slightly off kilter. “What, are we really talking about little green men from Mars?”

“More like a megalomaniac, god-like psychopath from Asgard,” answer Phil. “One called Loki, who was intent in conquering the Earth. He was intent on opening a portal that would allow an alien army to destroy us. He’s the one who killed me.” He paused and Melinda tried her best not to dig her fingers into his arm too much as she waited for him to continue. “In all honestly, I probably shouldn’t have confronted him. I knew I was outmatched in every way but … well, at the time there was no-one else. He had his brother, Thor, trapped and ready to kill and I was the only backup. And I did have a pretty decent weapon, probably the most powerful firearm in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s armoury so I thought … well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, I should’ve known better than to go up against a trickster god. He stabbed me in the back. Can you believe it? Centuries old, powerful beyond measure, and he kills someone like me in the most cowardly way possible.”

He stopped once again and she didn’t miss the way his free hand rose, almost of it’s own accord, to touch at a spot on his chest, just over his heart. Her stomach flipped over sickeningly as she realised that he was probably touching the scar that was left there. A scar on the front of his chest that came from being stabbed in the back. How violent and brutal was that action that he was not only stabbed, he was impaled? Without thinking she dropped her head slightly so her cheek now rested on his shoulder, so now she was as close as she could be to him. He seemed calm and there was no change in his voice as he spoke, but Melinda could feel how fast and heavy his heart was beating as he continued.

“After, I fell to the floor and … I couldn’t move. Everything hurt but it was all strangely dull and distant, and I knew right then and there that I was dying. Still … one of the last things I did was blast Loki in his smug face. I think I hurt him. I hope I did.” Melinda smiled sadly against his shoulder. “And then I was alone. That …” For the first time his voice changed, becoming thready. “That was the worst of it. That’s our deepest fear, isn’t it? Dying alone? Every breath hurt and I could feel my back become soaked with my own blood. I couldn’t move, couldn’t call for help, couldn’t even reach for my phone to say goodbye to those … Out of everything that happened since then, it’s those minutes I was alone and bleeding out that have keep me awake more than anything else. But funnily enough, I was accepting of it. Yes, I know that sounds strange,” he said in answer to Melinda’s flinching. “But when you take this job you’re well aware that things might not always work out for the best. That was always the risk, that was always something I - we - were willing to sacrifice. By the time Director Fury got there, I’d made my peace. The last thing I remember was the pain, and the fear not so much of the unknown but of leaving this world behind without really knowing if I’d made a difference, if it really all meant something in the end. And then …” Once again he trailed off and for a few minutes all Melinda could hear was the sound of the wind gently curling its way around the lookout and Phil breathing softly by her side. “Before, I’d never thought of myself as a believer. I was never religious or even curious about what happened after. I always thought that once you died, that was it. That there was nothing. But … I know I was gone. I know I went somewhere else. And … and I know it was beautiful.”

There was a flash in Melinda’s mind, a sudden glimmer of memory. A dark night, a desperate man and Phil’s voice echoing those same words. _‘It’s beautiful’_. Like the other times this was more emotion than anything else and she bit at the inside of her cheek to keep herself from speaking as a wave of pity, sorrow and fear washed across her. She didn’t want Phil to stop talking, not yet. She’d save this for later.

Phil continued. “My next memories are … jumbled. See, this is where it gets complicated.” He pulled away, stepping from the railing to turn and face her directly, their arms no longer intwined but their hands still held in one another’s. “At first I remembered waking up in a hospital bed, my recovery, being sent to a wonderful island paradise in Tahiti. When I returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. I was given charge of my own team, a team you were my first pick to be on,” he smiled at her. “And for a while everything seemed normal but … but right from the start, something felt off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, couldn’t tell anyone what was wrong, but I could feel it, deep in my gut. I was told that I’d been dead for only eight seconds but right from the beginning I knew that was wrong. I knew I was gone for longer, much longer. My skin felt like it didn’t fit anymore, my mind sometimes seemed like it was someone else’s. There were times when I woke up in the middle of the night from dreams that shouldn’t have scared me, but still somehow left me petrified. What happened to me had been so deeply buried in my subconsciousness that it literally had to be tortured out of me.”

Melinda blanched. “Tortured?”

“Yes,” said Phil calmly, his grip on her hands tightening ever so slightly in a way that was meant to reassure her. “It happens.”

It happens? She felt her mouth go dry. “So you’ve been tortured before?”

“Yes.”

Another terrible thought struck her. “Phil, have I … have I been …?” She was unable to complete her question but as she felt Phil’s fingers spasm around hers she knew he understood her perfectly.

“Yes,” he said again, but his voice wasn’t nearly so steady on that word the third time. “But, like I said before, that sort of thing is part of the job.”

Getting tortured, getting killed, this was all just part of the job? And the way he said it, too. So cooly, so resigned, as if it was an unavoidable inconvenience. She thought back to the night before, how he’d brushed off his near miss and how that casual manner nearly broke her heart. She thought about her own body, about the little white scars she’d discovered across her skin when she’d taken her first shower and set about re-learning what kind of body she possessed. She’d never paid too much attention to those scars before aside from a vague desire to know their origin, but now, having learned that she’d been tortured … a cold feeling in her limbs told her that she didn’t really want to know anymore.

“Melinda?” Phil’s soft voice brought her back to the present. “Are you alright? If this is too much I can stop and we can go back -”

“No,” she said firmly. “No, I need to hear the end of this.” She loosened her right hand from his and pressed his against his chest, right over his heart. Through the thin material of his shirt she was able to feel an unnatural rise in the texture of his skin, a shockingly long ridge that hide his now furiously pounding heart. “I need to know what happened.”

Phil reached up to hold her hand that was over his heart, but didn’t make any move to pull it away, but rather tucked it closer. “I wasn’t dead for seconds, or even minutes. I was dead for days. I went cold.”

She couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, just stared at where their two hands were interwoven on his chest and focused on how strongly his heart was beating. “How is that possible?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. used alien technology that we still don’t fully understand. They used blood from an alien creature call the Kree, and then erased my memory of the procedure. Erased it, then replaced it with false memories of a beautiful island paradise.”

Melinda’s head hurt. “Why would they do that?”

“Because the trauma of bringing me back … it destroyed me. There were countless operations and I died many more times on that operating table. Even … even now, my memories of that place are nothing more than scrambled shadows, and I can never know for certain what really happened and what’s nothing more than a nightmare.” He stopped, and she realised that he was shaking. “But the one thing I know for certain is that I wanted to die. I begged for it.”

Melinda felt sick. When she’d asked for the story behind Phil’s death she’d never imagined this. Injury, death and resurrection, while still horrific events, were not completely unknown to the greater world. Even in her own fractured memory she knew that people could survive heart attacks and terrible trauma as long as they got medical care as soon as possible, but this … he said he went cold. This tale he was telling, of aliens and gods and procedures that didn’t just save his life, but completely reversed death in some sort of twisted Lazarus narrative, this was almost too much to take in. For the first time in days she started to feel the creeping light headedness that happened when she over exerted herself too much and she hoped that she wasn’t beginning to sway on her feet. All of a sudden she just want to go home - and with a brutal clunk she realised that she still didn’t even really know what home was.

When she spoke her voice sounded strange even to her own ears. “But you did remember, in the end. You know what happened to you. How?”

“Like I said, it was tortured out of me - at first, by some nasty people who wanted to know how to bring soldiers back to life, and then I went into the memory machine willingly.” His lips curled as an unpleasant memory shot passed. “Once I knew for certain that S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping things from me, I was rather determined to uncover everything I could about TAHITI. But … even now … there’s still holes in my memory. And there were side effects that happened later but … that’s all sorted now.” It was then that he seemed to notice that she wasn’t as collected as she had been earlier. He dropped her hand to he could reach out and cup her cheek, gently lifting her face to his. “Melinda?”

Slowly the world seemed to come back into focus, though the trembling in her limbs remained. She look up at his face, his bright blue eyes that were staring down at her so earnestly … he was alive. But how he was alive was something she was sure was going to haunt her for a long, long time. She had wanted to know what had happened to him, she’d wanted the full and honest truth and now … now she knew why people warned against wishing for things.

Phil watched her closely. “I know it’s a lot to take in. It’s taken me so long to fully come to terms with what happened and, I still don’t have all the answers. I’m beginning to think I never will. But … that’s okay. In a way. I’m here now and despite what happened, or maybe because of it, I am grateful for this second chance. And let me tell you,” he said, and for the first time a hint of a genuine smile crossed his features. “This is one hell of a second chance.”

Melinda stared up at him, searching his face for any sign of him lying or attempting to cover any more of that pain that was scratching so near the surface during this conversation, but all she saw was an open, honest face. But still, there was something in this entire narrative that was bothering her, like there was something that didn’t quite fit. After a few moment’s it came to her.

“Where was I?”

“What?” said Phil, his smile replaced with a frown.

“In all of this, where was I?” she repeated. “You told me earlier that we’d known each other since academy days, that we were partners for years but the way you told the story … well, it was like I wasn’t there. Why?”

And just like that the caged look fell back across his face, the one expression that she was getting utterly sick of seeing. It was the same expression she saw when she’d asked about The Cavalry and just before she’d got him to admit to the strength of their relationship. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he quickly weighed up what to tell her and what to hide. She could feel her heart turn heavy in her chest even before he opened his mouth.

“You had left field work a few years before. You were working in admin when it happened.”

Truth, but not the whole truth. “Why did I leave the field?” she pressed.

His hand dropped from her face and hung loosely by his side. “It was to do with events concerning The Cavalry.”

“Events you don’t think I’m strong enough to know about,” she said bitterly.

Phil’s lips pressed into a thin line and she was surprised that he didn’t let go of her hand. “I still don’t.”

“You know, there’s every chance you’re wrong about that,” she said, stepping away a little so their hands were now loosely stretched between them. It was as if that link represented the fragile, hard earned connection they’d established, a connection that neither one of them was truly ready to test even if they were now, again, on opposite sides of an argument. “I am strong enough to know. Like I already know that I am The Cavalry.”

Phil’s jaw dropped and for a spilt second he looked terrified, something that shocked Melinda. She’d expected anger, but not fear, and in an instant she knew that he was afraid for her. “Who told you -?”

“That doesn’t matter,” she cut across him. “But I know and I’m okay. Phil,” she tightened her grip on his hand. “You can tell me. I’m okay.”

For a long moment all he did was stare down at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. It was then as if a wave of exhaustion washed over him and he sighed as his shoulders slumped, his head dropping as if a weight had settled upon it and she almost didn’t catch the words he muttered. “But I’m not.”

She took a small step towards him as he again lifted his face to hers. “I’m not okay, Melinda. I’ve never … I haven’t … I just don’t think I can talk about my death and what happened to you all on the same day. And I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong to keep those memories from you and it’s selfish now to ask this of you but … please don’t make me talk about this. Not today. Please.”

A small gust of wind curled around them, tickling her as it lifted her hair slightly off the back of her neck. She swallowed and nodded once. “Okay. Not today. But soon.”

“Soon,” repeated Phil, with a promise heavy in that one word.

Melinda squeezed his fingers just once more before letting his hand slide from her and walking a little way along the ridge line, putting the smallest amount of distance between them, needing some time to herself if only for a few moments. Time, she was sure, Phil needed to. The sun had now passed well overhead and she was now in the shadows of nearby trees. She folded her arms across her chest in a gesture more about comfort than cold and slowly tried to sort out everything Phil had told her. But she was tired and hungry, and the world which had seemed so wonderful and welcoming only a few hours ago was now too large, too cold. She couldn’t form a truly coherent thought and instead just drifted along to broken images that all seemed to come back to Phil, laying out on the ground all alone … bleeding … dying …

Through the quiet she heard the smooth thump of a car door closing and turning she saw Phil was back in the driver’s seat, hands in his lap, head bowed. She walked back to the car and slid into the opposite seat, and he started the engine without a word. But before he could put the car into gear she placed a hand on his arm, making him look at her. She opened her mouth to speak but suddenly found that she just didn’t have the words. He looked so tired, so open that she felt a wave of protectiveness, of compassion, of something she still wasn’t brave enough to name, and suddenly words were woefully inadequate. Instead she leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she whispered, before she moved away.

Phil stared at her a moment before a small smile cracked though that worn face, and he turned Lola homeward.

The drive back to the Playground was just as quiet as the drive out, but this quiet was a denser, less comfortable quiet that hid words longing to be spoken. Melinda didn’t doze on the way back, but kept alert the whole time, watching every little bit of scenery as it passed her by. It was only when they’d finally got back, just in time for dinner, that one tiny and almost inconsequential part of Phil’s story randomly swum back up to the forefront of her mind.

_“I went into the memory machine willingly.”_

Memory machine. A machine that helped him regain his lost memories. Melinda was no fool and she knew that if the technology existed to restore her mind than no-one on the base would’ve hesitated to use it by now. But … Phil had equated it to torture. She was also fairly certain that no-one would want to torture her into health. As she walked back into the base side by side with Phil, stopping only to be greeted by a grinning Skye and a more subdued Trip, her mind started to fixate on a plan.

Phil had been desperate enough to go into the machine for only a few weeks of missing memory. She wondered just how desperate she might become to snatch her entire life back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you thought I'd forgotten about the memory machine ...


	17. Chapter 17

Bobbi could feel the itch just beneath her skin and knew that she was minutes away from twirling. She stood alone in Coulson’s office, arms folded, staring at the massive screen that was shimmering with information about their latest disaster in London, a mass of text, maps and images all centred on a mug shot of one Doctor Arthur Carrington. As she stared at his face she felt a small twinge pull at her back from where a particularly well delivered punch hand nearly driven her to her knees, a souvenir from that ill-fated tailing mission where she and Lance had been duped into following a double.

And that was the source of her frustration. She couldn’t help feeling that the whole thing wasn’t as simple as it appeared, that it was actually a cover for some other purpose. But what purpose that was exactly still eluded her.

A soft tap at the still open door preceded Simmons’ entry to the room and Bobbi smiled at the small scientist, glad to have such a lovely distraction from this nonsensical puzzle.

“Bit strange to see you using Coulson’s office to do this digging … but I suppose while the cat’s away …” she said with a little grin as she slide up beside her and turned to face the screen with arms also crossed. She sighed as she looked over the same information. “Honestly Bobbi, if we just knew exactly what you were looking for with the Carrington case, maybe we could help you.”

Bobbi gritted her teeth in frustration. “That’s exactly it, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be looking for. Something. Anything. The whole operation felt off from the get go, all the way back to the original one that failed last month.”

Simmons frowned and turned to face Bobbi. “Are you talking about when Agent May was injured?”

Bobbi nodded and twisted around to pick a tablet off Coulson’s desk, clearing the stats about the London mission and replacing them with oder data from the doom operation that saw an entire warehouse implode and collapse on one of their best agents. “We know from satellite images that Carrington had been using this warehouse as a base for some time and even though we were never able to get clear specs of what he was doing in there, items that we recovered from the rubble indicate that he did have some sort of crude lab and was in the process of experimentation of some kind.”

A shudder passed through Simmons and her folded arms tightened across her chest. “From what we could understand it was more than that. He had moved on to human trials for whatever sick experiments he was conducting. Some of the bodies we recovered didn’t die in the blast. They had been dead for weeks, frozen, preserved and … ”

With a few swipes Bobbi brought up the pictures of several mutilated corpses. “ … and showing signs of obvious torture, dissection and organ removal.”

Simmons’ mouth twisted in disgust. “From what we can gather he was attempting to create artificial organs, or at the very least create some sort of by-pass to allow humans to live without their major organs.”

“How major?” asked Bobbi.

“Stomach, heart, lungs. It makes sense. A soldier that can replace any wounded organ or, even better, continue to fight without said organ entirely. From what Skye was able to recover from the burnt out hardware Carrington was on another branch of the Centipede project, although he seemed to have very much moved on into his own field of study. That is, before he exploded.”

Bobbi pressed her lips together and stepped towards the screen. “That’s just it, Jemma. I’m not sure he did.”

Simmons turned to Bobbi, wide-eyed. “Are you saying he’s still alive?”

“It would explain who organised that little party in London,” said Bobbi, once again swiping a finger across the table and bringing up grainy images taken from security cameras of the team that assaulted them. “We were unable to capture any of our attacker for further interrogation, but it was clear that those men were foot soldiers and not the guys in charge, and the one thing linking all of them was that they had all been in the employ of Carrington. It’s gotta be him pulling these guys strings but for the life of me, I can’t figure out _why_.” And with a flourish she spun around and threw the tablet back on the desk in frustration before bringing a hand to her head and sighing. “I need my batons. Or a drink. Or both.”

Simmons worried on her bottom lip for a moment before speaking. “I think you’re looking at this too much like a specialist and not enough like a scientist.”

Bobbi lower her hand. “What?”

Simmons walked over to the desk and retrieved the abused tablet, bringing back the data about the experiments. “Carrington was never a field agent, he was a scientist first and foremost, and we interrupted his experiments.”

Bobbi shrugged. “So? He wants vengeance for that?”

“No, no, he’d never be interested in something so petty,” said Simmons, eyes fixed on the screen as she swiped through countless reels of information, looking for something. “One thing I learnt while undercover at HYDRA was that us scientists are all too similar in our pursuit of the unknown, and that my morals - or at least, my idea of what morals are - are the only thin and flimsy membrane separating me from my more … determined colleagues.”

This gave Bobbi pause and for a second her eyes became distant as she seemed to be looking at something at a great distance. “Actually, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Simmons finally stopped her search at what looked like the results of unimaginable experimentation. “Carrington doesn’t want revenge. He wants to finish what he started.”

“Super soldiers impervious to harm,” said Bobbi. “That makes sense. But what doesn’t is why he’s attacking S.H.I.L.E.D.”

“I don’t think he is,” said Simmons, turning to Bobbi. “When you were in London, following the double, nothing happened until backup landed, right?”

“Right …”

“Which means the whole thing was designed to lure someone out,” said Simmons. “Coulson was shot, wasn’t he? A blow powerful enough to knock him out, but not enough to kill him. We all thought this was a lucky escape for him but what if Carrington never wanted him dead in the first place? I mean, those men were highly trained mercenaries and they caught everyone completely unaware … are you telling me that they’re the type of people who would miss a headshot?”

Bobbi cast her mind back to the operation, her eyes widening at a sudden realisation. “This was all about capturing the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Simmons shook her head. “Not so much the Director, but a man who had come back from the dead.”

Bobbi felt something fall into place in her mind with a sound _clunk_. “That’s it,” she breathed. “Carrington wants to finish his experiments and he believe Coulson is the last piece of the puzzle.”

“Coulson or Skye,” said Simmons, the fixed furrow between her eyes belying her calm voice. “Both were injected with the GH.325 serum.”

“Well, at least we know the ‘why’,” said Bobbi, taking the tablet from Simmons and once again bringing up the destroyed warehouse. “That explosion was so complete I was sure the entire building was rigged and ready to go, probably a fail safe set up by Carrington.”

“It’s a miracle that Agent May survived all that,” breathed Simmons, her eyes fixed to the screen.

Without warning a niggling little thought sprouted in Bobbi’s mind. It was a distasteful, flimsy thing and so she spoke out loud to try and understand it. “May was the only one of use that entered that building. She was supposed to gather intel and then have backup enter before engaging. But then the place exploded. The only reason Carrington would’ve hit the self destruct button is if he thought the place was compromised.”

Simmons shrugged. “Maybe he discovered May.”

Bobbi gave Simmons a derisive look. “No-one sees May until May wants to be seen.”

“Bobbi,” said Simmons slowly. “What exactly are you saying?”

“We don’t know exactly who caused the explosion, but I don’t think it was Carrington. Why would he destroy his life’s work? May, on the other hand … all I’m saying that only May knows exactly what happened in there and, considering the state she’s in now, she’s not exactly in any position to share that information with anyone.”

“Maybe,” Simmons drew out the word. “Maybe we should just focus on what’s happening now, rather than on events that we can neither fix nor change. Carrington is alive and he wants Coulson. There’s every chance he doesn’t even know Skye has the serum in her blood. That all happened right before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and … well, that was a busy period for all of us.”

Bobbi smiled tightly and nodded in agreement, all the while knowing that she most definitely was not about to let this line of thinking drop. “You’re right,” she said. “Priority is figuring out Carrington’s next move and hopefully being able to beat the bastard to the punch.”

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.”

The two women jumped at this new voice from the door and turned to see Director stride back into his office, still dressed in casual wear with a small smile that took the sting out of his words.

“It’s nice in here,” said Bobbi, shrugging. “I like the windows, sweet view of the alley.”

“Did you and May have a nice time, sir?” asked Simmons politely.

He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “I think so,” he answered lightly, but Bobbi didn’t miss the slight strain around his eyes. She of course knew better than to comment on it.

Coulson’s eyes flickered from the women up to the screen and back. “Going over the Carrington files, I see. Any new leads?”

“Not so much a lead, but at least we have an idea about motivation,” said Bobbi, before going on to explain the theory she and Simmons had been working on. However, she made a point to leave out any of her thoughts on Agent May and what involvement she might or might not have had in the explosion that left her without her memories. Simmons noticed this omission but aside from a brief sideways glance she didn’t say anything.

“So, Carrington wants my blood to help him make super soldiers,” said Coulson, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Haven’t we already been through this? I thought HYDRA was done with the super solider program.”

“HYDRA is, but Carrington seems to be working off book right now,” said Bobbi. “At any rate, we need to be prepared for an attack on your person.”

“Which means no more afternoon outings,” concluded Coulson, already in step with Bobbi’s thinking.

“Are you absolutely sure you weren’t followed, sir?” asked Bobbi seriously.

“I’m sure.”

“Because if Carrington is out to get you he could’ve followed you right back to base -”

“I said we weren’t followed, Agent Morse,” he repeated tersely, and Bobbi felt a wave of anger and contriteness wash through her. She knew Coulson was an incredibly capable agent, but she also knew that even the very best of them could be duped.

“I’m just remembering how easy it was for him to track us in London,” she said, making an effort to keep her voice level and respectful. Simmons’ eyes darted between the two of them. “And until Carrington is either captured or taken out, a little extra caution wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Coulson nodded, his expression unreadable, but at a small gesture to Simmons indicating that she should hand the tablet back to him Bobbi knew this little chat was over. As if to sum this up he asked a bland, “Anything else?”, to which both Bobbi and Simmons shook their heads. “Then, I wold rather like my office back.”

“Yes, sir,” smiled Simmons, ducking her head and walking out the door, followed shortly by Bobbi. As the two of them fell into step with each other and headed back to the Lab, Simmons’ little smile faded as she looked up at Bobbi. “You don’t want to tell him your suspicions about May?”

“Are you serious?” asked Bobbi, lowering her voice and looking around to make sure there was no-one nearby who could listen in, ducking to get closer to Simmons. “How well do you think he’d react to the idea that May set off that explosion that nearly killed her?”

“We think,” said Simmons’ quickly.

“We think,” agreed Bobbi. “Exactly. We have no proof of this and frankly, that sort of information isn’t going to help anyone any how. Only May knows what happened and … she’d not going to tell us any of that any time soon, is she?”   
Simmons’ mouth twisted sadly. “So we keep this to ourselves.”

“Yes, and focus on what move Carrington is likely to make next,” said Bobbi, straightening up and carrying on as if nothing had happened. “The past is past, the present is a mess and the only thing we can control right now is the future. Let’s focus on that.”

* * *

 

 

With an exhausted sigh Melinda passed through her bedroom door and flopped bonelessly onto her stomach on her neatly made bed. The afternoon had not only been emotionally draining, but it the small amount of activity she’d done had served to remind her that even though she was a lot stronger than when she woke up, there was still a deep seated weakness in her body that could be very easily brought back to the surface. She closed her eyes and buried her face into her pillow, sighing once again as she felt herself - very much against her own will - start to drift off to sleep.

To keep herself awake she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, running a hand through her hair as her mind bounced from thought to thought. Skye had gone to get her some dinner. They were going to eat together. Phil had asked for some time alone this evening. That made sense. He must be equally exhausted, what with having to relive something as terrible as his own death and resurrection. She didn’t mind. Not really. Sure, if she had to choice she would’ve liked to have dinner with Phil tonight, they didn’t need to talk they could just share a meal, but if Phil needed space … well, he’d given her space when she wanted it. Which, had actually been a bad idea, in the end. Blood nightmare. Man, she was hungry. She wondered why Skye would arrive. A memory machine. A machine that could possibly retrieve her memories. She wondered if Skye knew anything of that. No. It would be wrong to try and pressure Skye into revealing such information when Phil had probably forbidden her from talking about it. Like he didn’t talk about her past with her. The Calvary. He was tired, they were both tired. Still, she wanted to know, she was getting desperate to know why she felt this way every time that word was uttered or thought, why she felt sick and lost and so, so terrified …

A thump at the door pulled Melinda from her musings and as she sat up she tried to ignore the faint head spin that she felt, chalking it up to hunger more than anything. “Come in.”

“Can’t work the handle!” came Skye’s frustrated reply. Melinda raised one eyebrow and crossed the room to let Skye in. As she opened the door she nearly burst out laughing at the sight of a wild-eyed Skye balancing two trays ladened down with a staggering amount of food.

“How did you even knock?” exclaimed Melinda as she quickly quick unburdened her of at least one tray and ushered her into the room.

“I didn’t,” said Skye, nearly dropping her food on the table and shaking out the cramp in her wrists as she did so. “I kicked the door. Still, seemed to work alright.” She let out a puff of air and slumped into the chair opposite Melinda. “So …” she said, drawling out the word and playfully stabbing a fork into her pasta. “How’d the date go?”

Melinda merely gave her an eye-roll and a small smirk before tucking into her own meal. “Really? You really want all the nasty details?”

Skye’s mocking smile slide off her face as a look of disgusted realisation took over. “Oh, yeah, didn’t think that one through. Neve mind.”

“Well, you asked for it …”

“No, no, keep it PG!” Skye ducked her head and waved her hand in front of her as if trying to somehow ward off her words. “I mean, I want to know how it went but, like, in a non-gross way.”

“Well, glad to hear you think I’m gross.”

“I’m … not going to win this one, am I?”

“Nope,” said Melinda, biting at a forkful of pasta. “But to satisfy your curiosity, it went well. It was a lovely day and honestly, it was just so wonderful to get out and away from this place.”

Skye nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Okay, but that doesn’t explain while you and Coulson are now having dinner separately. Are you guys at a one-shared-meal a day ration or something?”

“You don’t have to spend every waking minute in the same person’s company, Skye,” said Melinda pointedly, and in the next moment she wished she hadn’t reacted so strongly. Yes, she was annoyed at how Phil had pulled back, but she understood it and really, it wasn’t Skye’s business …

Skye, however, let all this slide right by her, perhaps realising that it wasn’t really her place to comment. “Okay, makes sense,” she said before dropping the matter entirely, the two of them finishing their meal in comfortable silence.

* * *

 

 

Phil Coulson still hadn’t left his office, though his eyes were now itching with fatigue and the words on the paper before him started to swim together. The day had been more draining than he’d expected it to be. He’d gone out this morning light and cheerful, happier than he’d been in a long time with Melinda by his side and their relationship now a much more real thing. But now … he’d never before gone into the details about his death, never really spoken about to anyone and had hardly even allowed for self examination in even his most private moments. Simply, he never wanted to think about it again. After the truth of T.A.H.I.T.I. was revealed to him he’d struggled to fully comprehend the full nature of the pain he’d endured and lies he’d been fed as a result.

He dropped the paper on the desk with a sigh of defeat and rested his head in his hands, rubbing at his tired eyes. When he’d found out what kind of things had been kept from him in terms of his recovery, he’d felt such a keen sense of betrayal he’d never before known. He’d been ripped apart and pieced back together and then had all identity erased. And it had all been for his own good.

Is that was he was now doing to Melinda? By refusing to talk about what had happened in Bahrain was he in actuality protecting her, or just himself. He hadn’t lied, not exactly, when he said he’d been too emotionally drained to recount the events that had led to her ominous title. He was tired, yes, but … but …

He should’ve told her.

He ran his hands down his face and stared off into the depths of his darkening office. He should’ve told her. She was strong enough to bare it now and all this secrecy around it must be doing her head in. He thought back again at how awful it was to learn about T.A.H.I.T.I. from such a terrible source and shuddered to think of Melinda somehow discovering the events surrounding ‘The Calvary’ from someone who was less then sympathetic. He should’ve told her. He should tell her, now.

Without even thinking Phil rose from his seat and started towards the door with a renewed energy and purpose. However, before he’d even gone two steps something like a slight shudder passed through the building around him. He paused, frowning, looking carefully around him as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

* * *

 

 

Across at the Lab, Bobbi and Simmons paused in their work and looked around, surprised.

“What was that?” asked Simmons, a petrie dish in each hand.

The surprised look on Bobbi’s face quickly changed to one of determination. “It’s that future I mentioned earlier. It’s here.”

* * *

 

 

Over at Melinda’s apartment the two women paused in the meal as a barely perceptible tremor shook at the walls.

“Did you feel that?” asked Melinda, lowering her fork, her back going ridged. Skye nodded slowly.

Suddenly, the lights above them flickered and went out.

* * *

 

 

The Garage was suddenly plunged into total darkness.

“Oh, what the hell is this?” exclaimed Fitz, his voice lost in the black. In the next moment a crack was heard and Mack was suddenly illuminated by a brightly glowing green glow stick.

“Well, Turbo, seeing as how super secret bases don’t just loose power I’d say this -” he paused to pick a heavy looking wrench off the nearby workbench. “ - is trouble.”

* * *

 

 

Phil’s eyes strained to see anything in the darkness as he suddenly remembered that he’d left his weapon back on his desk. But just as he was turning back to grab it a low ‘ _whump_ ’ echoed up from the very bottom of the base.

And just like that the world dissolved into a mass of light, noise and fire.


	18. Chapter 18

The explosion tore through the base from the lower levels upwards, sucking the air straight out of Melinda’s lungs before the shockwave sent her flying to the floor. For a moment she lay there, stunned, tasting dust and smoke as she gasped desperately, her eyes staring wildly into the smothering darkness as a ringing in her ears cancelled out all other noise. She rolled onto her back, trying her hardest to fight her way out of this most awful sensation - she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t see, she could barely breath and through all this an acute sense of panic started to rise like a weed inside her to strangle any self control.

_What …?_

_What happened …?_

_Breath, just breath, breath oh God, I can’t, I can’t, I’m suffocating, oh God, I can’t see I can’t see I can’t see …_

Suddenly she felt a hand grasp at her hip and without thought she swung a clenched fist around to smash against whatever it was, only to find her wrist suddenly held by slight but scarily strong fingers. While her initial reaction had been to fight, suddenly finding her wrist caught and useless made her panic even more as she attempted to violently tug her hand free, fear gagging her as she realised she couldn’t. Then, just as quickly as this feeling came it dissolved as she felt another hand at her face and though the darkness kept the owner of this hand hidden the soft hair tickling at her cheek and the faint smell of vanilla served to identify that it was Skye hovering above her.

“Skye …” she croaked out, her own voice scarily distant, as she reached up blindly to find her shoulder, clinging to it as the only real thing in this horrible nightmare world.

She heard a mumbled reply, the ringing in her ears fading but still too loud to allow any other noise through. Even though she couldn’t make out the words she could guess at their tone. Urgency. Fear.

“I’m okay …” she muttered, patting awkwardly at Skye’s shoulder, her head rolling to the side. “I’m okay … what … what happened?”

Suddenly the darkness was lifted by an unearthly red glow that seemed to spring from both nowhere and everywhere at once, throwing the world into a strange mix of distorted shadows and unrecognisable shapes, where even Skye’s face above her, so close to her own, was hidden in darkness with her hair hanging like a shield around her.

 _“ … emergency lighting …”_ She faintly heard Skye say this as the younger woman looked around her, her hand now gripping Melinda’s tightly. As the red light illuminated Skye’s face Melinda was appalled to see a deep gash cutting a track just past her left eye. A piece of debris must’ve hit her, very narrowly avoiding her eyes altogether. She could’ve been blinded. As Melinda stared at the deep cut, the wound appearing black in the dim red light, she felt herself become grounded once again as she was drawn back into the present moment. Something had gone wrong, Skye was hurt, there had to be something she could do. No, she would find something that she could do.

With only minimal struggle Melinda pushed herself off the floor into a seated position next to Skye, who’s black eyes widened with concern at this movement.

 _“Whoa, are you okay?”_ Melinda guessed this was what she was asked, more from Skye’s expression than for actually hearing. The ringing was fading but it was still incredibly disorientating.

“I’m fine, fine,” she said, steadily ignoring the head spin she felt from sitting. Skye pulled a face at this and pointed to her ears, indicating that Melinda wasn’t the only one with hearing problems at the moment. She then bit her lips and got to her feet, pulling Melinda up with her. Now that there was at least some lighting Melinda was able to see that one corner of her little apartment was now gone with he dust barely settling over the ruined wall. Through the gap she could just make out the long shadows and flashes of white light cutting through the red, of figures with torches running back and forward through the base in response to whatever had just happened.

 _Attack. We’re under attack._ This thought sprung up through the haze in Melinda’s mind almost like muscle memory and her hands began to itch with the need to do … something. Fight. Defend. More than at any other time before she started to feel this ache in her skull as she could almost see those lost memories dancing just out of view.

She was an Agent of S.H.I.L.E.D. She had been trained to deal with such situations.

She was just Melinda. She had no idea what to do.

The door flung open and a beam of blinding white light pierced the room, causing both women to throw their hands over their eyes. The light then dipped and cleared to reveal Trip behind it, holding a torch and a handgun.

“Skye!” he cried out, lowering the weapon, and this time Melinda could clearly make out the sound, even if it was still a little faint. “May! Are you alright?”

Skye nodded. “What the hell just happened?”

“I only got the ‘what’, not the ‘who’ or the ‘why’,” said Trip quickly, handing a gun to Skye and pushing one into Melinda’s hand too. She baulked at being handed a weapon, holding it awkwardly in two hands with the muzzle carefully pointed away from any living person in that room, but while Skye’s eyes flickered towards her momentarily Trip seemed oblivious as he carried on. “And the ‘what’ is a whole bunch of explosions all across the base, all at the same time.”

“How on earth is that possible?”

“Beats me, but it’s taken down everything, electricity, comms, security. My thinking is whoever’s doing this, their next move will be a full scale invasion which is where we come in. We’ve got people going to where the compound has been breached ready to shoot at anything that isn’t us and we need any and all personal who can carry a weapon on board with this.” Suddenly he paused and looked Melinda up and down as if he’d just noticed her. With his keen eye he took in her uncomfortable stance and the unfamiliar way she was handling the firearm, and she could practically see the dawning realisation revealed on his face. “Oh … May, I didn’t …”

“May, do you remember how to handle a weapon?” Skye asked carefully.

A wave of anger, fuelled mostly by her own fear rose up and spoke for her. “I can’t even remember my own life, Skye, why on earth would you suddenly assume that I’d be able to fire a gun?” she snapped, feeling the weight of the weapon in her hand like a milestone chained to her soul. There was something truly distasteful she felt towards this thing, and having it unceremoniously thrust upon her made her both resentful and frightened. Somewhere deep in the base she heard a crashing noise and a far off scream, and suddenly she felt like she was stuck in one of her nightmares, where her whole world was nothing but violence and blood and dust. She thought she’d been safe in this base and the loss of that security made her all the more terrified.

“I’m sorry.” She could vaguely her Trip apologising. “I thought … I didn’t think, not really. You’re an excellent agent, May, and coming to you in a time like this … well, it’s more instinct, really.”

“I’m not an agent!” she said, shoving the gun back towards Trip who quickly relieved her of it. “I don’t know how to use a gun! I don’t know what to do!”

“It’s okay, May, it’s okay!” said Skye, holding her hands up in a placating gesture. “Look, you don’t need to do anything, okay? Just stay here and …” she trailed off and Melinda felt another wave of fear as she could see that she was at a loss. She and Trip had to go, they had to defend their base from this attack, but in doing so they’d be leaving Melinda behind, alone, defenceless. Melinda had never felt more keenly her absolutely uselessness and nearly screamed at the thought that the super competent agent she had been was now a whimpering civilian, holding others back and - even worse - putting others in danger just to protect her.

Just at that moment a new figure appeared at the door and both Skye and Trip turned in tandem and drew their weapons on this intruder - and then lower them in the next moment as Phil Coulson came into view. He was still dressed in the clothes he’d worn out earlier that day (was it only a few hours ago the two of them had stood alone above the word in such delicious silence?), but now he was covered in dust and small cuts, and had his own weapon at the ready. He quickly took stock of who was in the room and lower his weapon, heading straight for Melinda’s side, quickly grasping at her elbow as if to make sure she was really there and she nearly sagged to the floor with relief.

“Is everyone okay?” he asked, and while he addressed everyone in the room she knew that question was mostly meant for her. She pressed her lips together and nodded, a war raging within herself as she both rejoiced at his coming for her and hated herself for needing to be rescued in the first place.

“We’re fine,” Skye said. “But do you know what -” Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off by the brutal sound of gunfire that was all too close.

“We have enemy forces inside the base,” said Phil. “I passed Bobbi and Hunter on the way over and from what I can gather they’re heading for our Mainframe now - they’ve already ransacked the Lab.”

Skye looked horrified. “Simmons …?”

“Is still alive,” was all he answered, and Trip placed a comforting hand on Skye’s shoulder. “The strike team seems very small, but very competent, and they’re using the confusion caused by the explosions as cover. Skye, Trip, I need you down at the Mainframe now, we cannot afford to loose any more information to these people.”

“And what about you, sir?” asked Trip.

He hesitated for a moment as he cast a quick glance in Melinda’s direction. “I’ll join you after I take May down to the Basement.”

Melinda felt a rush of humiliation. He was running away from battle just to look after her. “Do we really have time for that?” she asked. “Surely you can leave me here and I’ll be fine -”

Unfortunately just as she said that she felt something wiz past her ear and a series of cracks told of gunfire right outside. She felt Phil’s hand drop from her shoulder at he, Skye and Trip raised their guns and as one shot the offending soldier who had been standing right outside her door, the hulking mass of a man collapsing like a puppet who had it’s strings cut. Phil turned back to find her with her hands over her mouth in terror.

“We’re going. Now,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Trip and Skye nodded and headed for the door first. After calling a quick ‘Clear!’, she and Phil followed, Phil’s hand back on her arm half guiding, half pulling her along.

At the hallway Trip and Skye parted ways with them, with Skye shooting one last wide-eyed look over her shoulder before the two of them were lost to the black/red shadows of the base. Sticking close to the wall the two of them stumbled over debris and collapsed walls, making their way deeper and deeper inside of the base. Melinda kept glancing at the side of Phil’s face as they ran, the familiar feature now strange and other-worldly in the dim red light, but he didn’t look back at her once, all too focused on getting her to safety. As the rounded a corner they suddenly came across an incredibly large man who was armed to the teeth and had his face covered with a balaclava. Without hesitation Phil shot the man right in the chest three times, Melinda shrinking against the wall as he did so. As the larger man staggered back with a groan and dropped to his knees, Phil ran forward to kick him in the face, wrestling away his rifle and then using the butt of it to smash against the soldier’s head a few times until the man stopped moving all together. He then straightened and continued down the hall, gesturing for Melinda to follow him as if nothing of interest had just happened. As if he’d simply stopped for a moment to consider with direction to take, and not just brutally killed a man.

Melinda found that she couldn’t move. She just stared down at the dead man, bile rising in the back of her throat while a different kind of horror started to eat away at her insides. Phil had just killed a man. And it was nothing.

As if from a dream she could hear someone calling her name. It was only when she felt a hand on her shoulder that she was pulled back into the present. “Melinda!” Phil said, and it was only now that she realised he’d been repeating this over and over. “Come on, we have to go, we have to go now!”

Shakily she put one foot in front of her, then the other, then again and again until she was running down the corridor at Phil’s side, sliding around the corner, through a heavy door that led to a narrow staircase above a small, dark room that seemed to have avoided any damage so far during the attack. Phil pushed her in front of him and she hurried down the stairs to the chamber as he swung the door closed, blocking out all sound from the base above them in a way that was more eerie than comforting.

Melinda stumbled down the stair until the reached the bottom of the chamber, which seemed to be nothing more than an open room with a bed in the far corner and a chair in the middle. She turned around to see Phil quickly descending the stairs, tucking his gun behind his back as he made his way directly to her, one hand reaching out to cup at the side of her face as small slivers of fear and concern started to creep onto his otherwise unexpressive face.

“Melinda …” he said softly, his voice finally sounding more human to her ears. “It’s going to be okay, I promise, but I’m going to have to leave you here, just for a little while.”

She reached up to press his hand closer, their fingers intertwining as they shuffled closer together. “Are you sure that door will hold?”

“The door isn’t the barrier,” he said, nodding towards the bed. “Half of this room is protected by a forcefield that not even the strongest weapons can breach. I’m going to give you the tablet and I want you to lock yourself inside and not open it for anything or anyone until I come back for you, understand?”

 _Like a princess, locked in a tower,_ she thought bitterly, and something of that must’ve shown on her face because Phil imminently brought his other hand to her neck, raising her eyes to his.

“You understand why this has to be like this, right?” he asked, a touch desperately.

“I do,” she said, and hated the words. “I can’t fight, I can barely run. I’m no use to you like this.”

“You can’t help the way you are now. In any other circumstance you’d be right by my side,” said Phil, each word filled with strength, admiration and love. “You were always the better agent, the better person, and I would be honoured to be the one protecting you for once. And probably only once. And even then this won’t be able to pay back even a fraction of all that you’ve done for me.”

Melinda nodded, a sudden stinging at her eyes warning of tears, and then without hesitating or even thinking about it she grasped at Phil’s collar and pulled him towards her, touching her lips to his. He froze for a second, just as surprised by her movements as she was, but in the next moment he melted into her, a hand slipping to her waist, pulling her flush against him, his lips moving gently across her, soft and warm and such a startling difference to this world of dust and destruction that hung all around them. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, her ears still ringing slightly and for a moment that lasted an eon her world became nothing more than his taste and his touch and her heartbeat slowed and beat heavily and the whole world became still.

She didn’t know when or how, but when she opened her eyes again they had slipped apart and were now resting their foreheads against one another’s, their breath mingling in that tiny space between them. She looked up into his gorgeous blue eyes that now seemed almost black in that strange red light, and knew that time was short.

“Go,” she whispered, pulling slightly away, both loving the way his finger’s reflexively tightened on her skin and hating how she had to leave their hold. “Go.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t quite look like he was up to forming words. She stepped back towards the bed, never once taking her eyes from him as he looked at her absolute open adoration, breaking their gaze only to reach down and pick a tablet up off the chair, swiping at a few buttons in preparation to seal her away, reaching over to hand it to her.

Melinda saw it out the corner of her eye a split second before she knew what was happening. The door above the stairs creaked open and the muzzle of a rifle was seen edging through the crack. Her eyes widened in fear and just as she opened her mouth to shout a warning bullets whizzed through the small room, ricocheting in the enclosed space.

It seemed like time slowed to nothing, and in a moment Melinda saw exactly what was going to happen. As the enemy soldier burst through the door, shooting blindly into the room, she knew that Phil was now too far away from safety, but he had in his hand the ability to guarantee hers. Their eyes met and from one look she knew exactly what he was going to do. Still, she screamed. Still, she ran forward. Still, she tried to stop him.

“Phil, _no_!”

She slammed into an invisible force field and was thrown back onto the floor behind her, just as she saw Phil crack the tablet with his hands, effectively destroying the key that would allow the enemy to get to her. Bullets peppered ineffectually against the screen that shielded her, while at the same time Phil drew out his weapons and started firing against the stream of men that were now caging him in. But it was no use. There were five of these highly trained soldiers against him, and they all had body armour whereas he was just in light civilian clothes. Melinda felt a scream strangle her as she watched as he was hit once, twice, and fell to his knees. He seemed almost surprised as he looked down at his chest and saw two small holes oozing black blood in that red light. A small frown cross his face as if he were confused and then, with no little effort, he made to once again pick up the rifle and aim it at the intruders. But it was no use. One of the soldiers crossed the floor, yanked the rifle out of his hands, and brutally smashed the butt of it up the side of his head, sending him sprawling on his side onto the floor.

 _Get up,_ Melinda thought desperately, ignoring the burning tears that dripped down her face. _Get up, get up, get up!_

But he didn’t, just rolled sluggishly until his eyes were able to meet hers and suddenly she remember what he’d said earlier.

_That’s our deepest fear, isn’t it? Dying alone?_

_You’re not alone,_ she thought desperately, her hands were pressed against the invisible wall that separated her from him. She couldn’t speak, her throat hurt too much, and besides, she didn’t want those bastards in the room to hear a damn word that was meant for Phil only. _You’re not alone, I’m here, I’m here, I’ll always be here. I love you. I love you. I love you!_ She couldn’t say it. She hoped he knew. He stared up at her, his breathing coming in ragged gulps as the soldier standing above him spun the rifle around and aimed it at Phil’s head.

“Stop!”

This cry came from a new man who marched into the room, and the rest of them lower their weapons in deference. The new man, with the tactical gear and masked face looked exactly like all the others except in the way he carried himself, and at once Melinda knew who the leader was. A sudden desire the _hit, slice, kill_ rose up quick and dangerous within her as he marched past the other, stopping in front of Phi’s prone form, and then used his booted foot to roll Phil onto his back.

“This is the Director,” he said coolly. “The one person on this base we were told not to harm. Well, isn’t Carrington just going to be absolutely charmed with this.”

“Well, he ain’t dead,” grunted one of the other soldiers.

“And that’s the main reason why the rest of you are still standing,” drawled the man in charge. “Get him up and lets get out of here.”

Melinda watched, completely powerless as two the the soldiers scrapped Phil off the floor, looped his arms around their shoulders, and carried him up the stairs, out of the room and away from her. The others filed out without even a backward glance at her, as if she were the most insignificant creature on the face of the planet, something she truly felt in that moment. All expect the leader. He paused for a moment, glancing down at the broken tablet on the floor and then back to where she was both trapped and safe. He stepped closer to her and even though she could do nothing about it she scrapped her nails against the barrier and bared her teeth at him like the caged animal she felt like. His eyes regarded her a moment before recognition dawned in them.

“Agent May,” he said, surprised. “I almost didn’t recognise you. I must say, this is strange, hiding away rather than defending Coulson. Isn’t that, like, you’re life’s purpose? But maybe I’m too judgemental. Maybe you’re still recovering. I thought you must’ve died in that explosion, you were so close to the centre of it, after all.” He paused a moment to reach up and pull the balaclava off his head, revealing a white man with dark hair closely shaven to his scalp and deep, black eyes. Melinda knew objectively that he was handsome but at that moment he was the single most disgusting thing she’d ever laid eyes on. “Bet you’re surprised to see me,” he smirked, but the twist on his lips faded when Melinda made no movement to show that she knew him at all. He blinked, apparently disappointed at her lack of reaction, and leaned closed to the barrier to really look into her eyes. “What … happened to you?” he asked with a detected curiosity. “You’re … you didn’t just walk away unscathed, did you?” He laughed humourlessly and backed away, slipping his mask back on. “The unstoppable Agent May, the one and only Cavalry, now nothing more than a simpering civilian ducking for cover. Oh, wonderful. Thanks May, seeing you like this is going to carry me through the rest of the day. Coulson, though … not so much.” And with a sarcastic little wave he made his way back up the stair. “I hope you enjoy my old digs as much as I did,” he called over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him, leaving Melinda trapped in the basement, all alone, with no-one to call and nothing to look at except two small smudges on the floor where Phil had lain out, bleeding to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only going to get worse ...


	19. Chapter 19

Bobbi never thought of herself as bloodthirsty. That sort of trait was never really welcomed in the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D., as an agent needed to be objective and cool under pressure regardless of who they were up against. Sure, she was exact in her movements. Sure, she was ruthless in the way she took down the enemy. But she was never bloodthirsty. Not really.

Still. She couldn’t deny how extremely wonderful it felt to crack a baton hard against a masked soldier’s face, and the satisfying thud as he hit the ground was a quickly celebrated victory before she quickly leapt over the prone form and onto the next target. Out the corner of her eye she could see Hunter neatly dispatch his own opponent while Trip stood guard over Skye, who was knee deep in the wreckage of what had been their main server, now a heap of metal that had been damaged in the attack, wires and gadgets spilling out across the floor like the guts of a wounded beast. Skye's fingers were dancing frantically across the screen of the tablet she’d hooked up to the mainframe, working her strange computer voodoo as she tried to dig out whatever bug had been injected into their system.

There was the thick sound of metal on bone and the man Hunter’d been dealing with collapsed to the floor like a broken doll. Bobbi’s eyes raked his form, her keen observation skills noting that even though he seemed mostly unharmed, he did sway slightly and his right hand kept twitching into a clenched fist and relaxing again, all signs that he was both agitated and tired. He was breathing heavily through his teeth as he stared down at the man he’d just knocked out, momentarily unaware of her gaze, and he swiped an angry hand across his mouth before turning to Skye.

“Now, I don’t want to be ‘that guy’, I really don’t … but are you done yet? I mean, normally I hate that question, but you can see where I’m coming from, can’t ya?”

“Hey man, keep cool,” said Trip, himself a pillar of calm in their red soaked world. “She’ll be done when she’s done, no rushing these things.”

Hunter pulled a face - Bobbi rolled her eyes at his childish behaviour - when suddenly his eyes widened in fear as Trip raised his handgun and pointed it right at Hunter’s face.

“Whoa mate I’m sorry I asked you don’t have to —!”

Trip expertly fired three shots over Hunter’s shoulder and right into the chest of another masked man who was just sneaking up behind the group, dropping the assailant before he even got a chance to get close. For a split second Hunter stayed frozen where he was, eyes bulging and hands raised in surrender, before he peaked over his shoulder at the masked man who was now bleeding out. Bobbi could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he figured out what had just happened, and she had to cover a smile as he turned back to Trip with a furious look on his face.

“Okay, that was not funny.”

Trip just grinned. “It was a little funny.”

“Not even slightly!”

“C’mon, lighten up …”

Suddenly the red light above them flickered wildly and was replaced with the normal white glow, as the servers around them all whirled back into action, blue lights popping up all along the mainframe as the buzz of electricity once again flowed through the previously inanimate machines.

“Speaking of lightening up,” said Skye triumphantly, standing up from the wreckage and disconnecting her tablet. “All systems are back online.”

“That’s my girl,” smiled Bobbi wirily, as their coms sparked to life, Mack’s voice echoing from the other side.

_“Lights are back. I’m hoping all this is your doing, Skye, and not some brand new problem we’ve got to deal with here.”_

Bobbi nodded to the group and put her hand to her ear to indicate that she’d be taking this call. “Yes, that was us Mack. Everything’s good to go again. How’s things on your end?”

There was a a pause, an Bobbi noticed how Skye’s eyes had become unfocused as she stared blankly forward and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Bobbi really had to command her for being able to focus so well on the task at hand when she was obviously concerned about the welfare of her teammates. Mack’s voice returned.

_“The Doc’s pretty beat up, but Turbo’s with her now. She should be fine. Everywhere else is cleared except where you are. Place is a mess, no doubt, but it seems more like a smash-and-grab sort of job than a real hostile takeover.”_

“I agree,” said Bobbi tersely, jerking her head towards the exit as she started walking off, indicating to the others to follow. “We’ve seen the ‘smash’, but where was the ‘grab’? Skye?”

Skye shook her head, her eyes focused on her tablet as she kept pace by Bobbi’s side, the boys a step behind. “The virus was designed to incapacitate our systems, but it doesn’t appear to have sent out any information, or left any sort of backdoor where a hacker can return to our files. Whatever they were looking for wasn’t in our files.”

“What about the vaults?” asked Trip as they made their way upstairs towards the Lab. “Our equipment, our research?”

_“All seems untouched. Actually, aside from the big-ass crater in our basement and our battered people, not too much more seemed to be damaged or missing.”_

“That we know of,” muttered Hunter, and Bobbi felt herself agreeing.

“Well, check again,” said Skye, who was following her own advice and still scouring the files for a trace of the abnormal. “There’s got to be something missing. HYDRA wouldn’t risk a mission like this for nothing.” Suddenly a small light switched on in Bobbi’s mind.

“No … _HYDRA_ wouldn’t,” she said slowly, stopping mid-stride, her brow furrowing in concentration.

“Uh oh,” said Hunter, coming up to her side. “I know that look. What is it, Bob?”

She turned to Hunter, aware that Trip and Skye were listening intently. “If this was a HYDRA attack there is no way that it’d be over already,” she said. “If they knew where we were they would not stop coming for us until we were dead or made to comply.”   
“So, if not HYDRA than who?” asked Trip.

“Mercenaries,” said Hunter, his eyes widening as the pieces began to fall into place.

Bobbi nodded. “Carrington.” She turned to Skye. “Where’s Coulson?”

Skye shook her head slightly, as if willing her brain to start catching up on what was happening. “Coulson? He’s … he left with May, took her down to the Vault to keep her safe.”

“And when was the last time you heard from him?”

She didn’t even need to answer, Bobbi could see it on her face. Immediately Skye was on her comm. “Coulson? Coulson, do you copy? Coulson!”

Nothing. Not that Bobbi was really expecting an answer, as a terrible sense of dread was now forming in the pit of her gut. She instead called out to Mack. “Mack? You still there? Did you copy all that?”

_“Yeah, but … so Carrington’s been after Coulson all this time?”_

“It’s a theory that might very soon be proved fact,” said Bobbi, turning for the Vault with the others close at her heels. “When was the last time you saw the Director?”

_“Not since before this whole thing started.”_

“But I don’t get it,” said Hunter. “They hit us right where we live, and leave with only one man? Is there some super secret Director’s information that only he knows or something?”

“It’s gotta have something to do with that magic juice that brought him back from the dead,” said Trip. He gave a pointed look to Skye. “You too.”

This brought Bobbi up short and she gave Trip an incredulous look. “How did you know that?”

Trip just shrugged. “I was there when they brought Skye back from the brink, and I watched while Simmons tried her hardest to reverse engineer the serum from her blood. Figured it’s the only thing that really sets the Director apart from the rest of us, and would make him a target.” He paused, seemingly amused by Bobbi’s face. “What? It’s either that or they’re here for his first edition Captain America comics … and they’re probably not here for his comics.”

Meanwhile Hunter was watching the two of them like a man at a tennis tournament. “Did I just hear that right? Did you just say ‘back from the dead’?”

“Another time, another place,” said Bobbi curtly as they reached the entrance to the Vault. Skye pushed her way to the front, kicked the door in and was already halfway down the narrow stairs, weapon drawn, while Trip, Bobbi and Hunter followed close behind … but as soon as Bobbi was in that small, poorly lit room she knew that it was already all over. In one sweep she took in the pock-marked far wall that had been peppered with bullets, the small, dark red smear on the floor, the broken tablet laying useless to one side and, finally, the small woman sitting cross legged on the low cot in the furtherest, darkest corner of the room, hands in her lap, head bowed.

“May!” Skye called out to her S.O., but received no response. In an instant Skye whipped out her own tablet and started to override the security screen that had May trapped in the cell. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you out of there in no time.”

May made absolutely no move to indicate that she’d heard a word of what was said, and from where she was standing Bobbi couldn’t quiet see her face or get a read on what was going on with her. But even from a distance she was already formulating an idea of what had happened, and what May might’ve witnessed. Bobbi looked around her and without meaning to her eyes sought out Hunter’s. In nothing more than a look she knew that he was one the same line of thought as her.

“Bullets in the wall, blood on the floor, and a trapped Agent May,” he muttered, low enough to not distract Skye from her work, and even though May still hadn’t moved Bobbi had an uncanny feeling that she was watching them intently. “This doesn’t bode well for Coulson.”

“You don’t know the man like we do, he’s tougher than he looks,” said Trip instantly. “We don’t whose blood that is just yet.”

“At any rate, it’s not enough to assume the victim died,” added Bobbi.

Hunter blew out a sigh. “Well, you know it’s been a bad day when the best you can say is ‘there’s definitely blood here, but not too much blood. Just the right amount of blood’.”

“Can everyone please stop talking,” demanded Skye tersely. She then let out a growl of frustration. “This override is going to talk longer than I thought.”

“Why?” asked Hunter. Bobbi grimaced. _Not a smart move, Hunter_ , she thought as Skye wheeled on him.

“Why?” she repeated, her fear and frustration needing an outlet. “ _Why_? Maybe because this was designed to house the most dangerous and cunning pieces of filth we could find. Because this is state of the art software that even some of the mostly highly skilled hackers are even aware exists. Because it was designed to be unbreakable, and even with an override code it still has a fail safe of time, to make absolutely sure that no-one, no-one, could ever escape from this prison.”

Trip, ever the peacekeeper, stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Skye’s shoulder. “C’mon, you know this isn’t about him.”

Skye took a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to place one hand over Trips, using his presence to keep herself grounded. “You’re right,” she said finally. “You’re right. I’m just …”

“I know,” said Trip softly, squeezing her shoulder. “Now … how long until you crack this thing?”

Skye bit at her lip and surveyed the data on her tablet. “Ten to fifteen minutes, give or take,” she said eventually. “Remember, it was designed to be difficult.”

“Which means I’m just gonna be even more impressed than usual when you break through it,” said Trip with a slight smile. Skye returned a shaky smile of her own before focusing her attention back on May.

“Did you hear that May? Fifteen minutes, tops, and you’ll be out of there, I promise.”

May didn’t move.

“May?” Skye called out again, unable to hide the slight tremor in her voice. “May, can you hear me? Are you alright, did they hurt you?”

The worry in Skye’s voice must’ve finally registered with May, because after what seemed like an age she looked up at the four of them. Bobbi struggled to keep her face neutral as she took in the absolutely defeated woman that was sitting, trapped, in front of them. Her eyes were dry, but the splotched skin on her cheeks betrayed the fact that she had been weeping, and while she sat completely still Bobbi sensed that this wasn’t a result of a lack of energy, but that this all came from an effort to keep herself under control. For a moment May seemed so very much like her old self, but in the worst possible ways. Bobbi might not have been as close to May as Skye was, but she had known her much, much longer, and had seen her in the field in some terrible conditions. There was something shattered about this woman, everyone could see it, but what Bobbi saw was the dangerous creature that was now quivering just under May’s skin. She was broken, yes, but like shards of glass that can still cut and slice, a broken May was now something infinitely more dangerous.

Skye sensed this too. “May …” she breathed, her voice trailing off.

When May spoke it was from behind clenched teeth, as if every word had to be pulled from her. “They shot Coulson and took him away. And I couldn’t do anything.”

It was like the ground rolled under their feet for a moment as their worst fears were confirmed, and Bobbi flexed her grip on her batons as her mind already began running at a million miles a minute, calculating their next move. Still, she was surprised when Trip turned to her and asked, “So what’s the plan now?”

Bobbi blinked. “Me?”

“You,” said Trip seriously. “With Coulson out and … well, you’re next in line to assume control of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Although he didn’t say it, the slight hesitation he tripped over was clearly where he was about to point out that, usually, Agent May would’ve assumed command of the base in Coulson’s absence. Bobbi’s eyes flickered once again to May and was dismayed to see that this had registered with the broken woman.

“And we can already see that tactician’s mind at work,” added Hunter. His mannerisms were more subdued and tightly coiled than usual, and Bobbi knew this was just another sign that things were most definitely sliding into chaos. “What’s our move?”

Bobbi pressed her lips together and unconsciously stiffened her back. “Skye, stay on comms and let me know the second you break May out of there. Trip, Hunter, you’re with me, back to the hanger and prep the Bus. Mack?” She pressed a finger to her ear.

_“Yes, Bob?”_

“Salvage any and all equipment that can be used in tracking and surveillance. We need to get airborne as soon as possible and start our search from a mobile unit. We have a very small window of opportunity to find these bastards before they do anything more.”

“Like a duck to water,” Hunter murmured to Trip, although loud enough so that Bobbi could hear. In spite of everything a small smile tugged at her lips for a moment before she was focused back on task.

“I’m going to be on that plane when it leaves,” said Skye forcefully.

“Of course you are, once you’re done here,” nodded Bobbi. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to be left behind.” Just as she said those words she noticed May quickly clench and then relax her fists, much like Bobbi had been doing with her batons. She noted this as a sign of extreme agitation and once again felt a slightly tingle of warning pass through her as she took in May’s state. But … there were other things that needed to be considered. And preparations to make. With a final nod to Skye and a jerk of the head to the boys, she turned to the exit.

“Good luck,” Skye called after them, her lips trembling slightly. Bobbi shot them one last glance over her shoulder at the two women left in the basement, Skye staring up at them with worry lines etched between her eyes and May, as still and silent as ever, her fists once again clenching and relaxing without anyone else noticing.

 

* * *

 

When Jemma finally came to the first thing she was aware of was of an incredible pounding in her temples, as if her skull had suddenly become two sizes too small for her brain. She groaned and rolled her eyes beneath closed lids, raising one hand haphazardly to touch the source of the pain and hissing as her fingers grazed a swollen and hot lump that was forming just around her right eye. Her memory returned in fragments and flashes — talking with Bobbi — the blackout — the explosion — large men with hidden faces — the strangers who broke into her lab and smashed all her delicate, precious equipment — how one of those men had seized her by the front of her jacket, lifting her so her toes barely scrapped the floor, shaking her but not demanding anything, as if the whole things had been nothing more than a scare tactic.

She remembered calmly looking up into the blue eyes of that beast of a man and saying sweetly, “If you’re trying to intimidate me, brute force is a particularly unoriginal and neanderthal way of doing so.”

His eyes widened for a moment, infuriated. Then he raised his fist. Then —

Jemma groaned once again, but this had nothing to do with her headache. “Oh Jemma, you fool,” she muttered to herself.

A voice floated down from beside her. “Yeah, well, I was going to say the same thing but it seemed a tad inappropriate as far as bedside manners go.”

Jemma opened her eyes, surprised, and turned her head slightly to see Fitz sitting beside her little gurney, his chin tucked into his shirt collar and his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Fitz?”

He raised his head slightly so he could take in her appearance, his eyes running across her face before once again snapping away to stare off into the room. She glanced down and saw how one leg was jumping in agitation. When he started talking it was in his usual rushed, monotone way, his words sliding into each other at such a pace that Jemma couldn’t fine any space to interrupt. “You missed all the fun stuff, by the way. And by fun I mean terrifying running and shouting. Not that I was worried, I can handle myself. Punched a guy,” He lifted his hand slightly so she could see the bloody and torn skin of his knuckles, and instantly she wanted to get out of the bed and get some sterile bandages for those cuts. Fitz, however, seemed oblivious. “Of course, I was with Mack, he helped. Hit a guy with a wrench - it was pretty cool.”

“Fitz …”

“Power’s back, came back about a minute ago,” he continued, raising his voice slightly, still without looking at her. His leg continued to bounce madly. “Comms, too. Not sure about the causality count at the moment or where the damage is the worst, but I guess we’ll find out sooner or later, right?”

If this were any other day, in any other place a year ago, Jemma would’ve had no trouble keeping pace with Fitz’s rattling speech, but her head started to throb and her throat closed up at some raw emotion that had nothing to do with the attack began rise within her like a flood. With tears pricking at her eyes and her lips rolled together to keep everything under control, if only for a moment longer, she turned on her side, reached out, and clasped Fitz’s trembling hands in her own. In an instant he stopping moving like someone had flipped a switch. Jemma smiled as she looked at his profile, one heavy tears escaping and rolling over her nose as he slowly twined his fingers through hers. For a moment all he did was stare down at their linked hands, breathing quick and hard as if he’d just run a race.

“We didn’t see you at first,” he started, his voice low and fast, his hands twitching in hers. “It was dark and - and … I didn’t mean to. Walking over broken things and then suddenly I walked on - on - on …” He choked on whatever he’d been about to say and Jemma knew at once who was responsible for her rescue and care.

“It was terrible,” he muttered, half to himself. “You’re not small, you don’t seem small but you were and - and …” He paused again before he took a quick breath and turned to face her. “And I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” he said all in a rush.

Jemma smiled brightly even as her eyes swum with tears and blurred her vision. “Don’t be silly, you got here as quick as you could.” But Fitz was already shaking his head.

“That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, and then, very tentatively, he loosened one hand from her grip to gently trace his cool fingers over her head wound, running them along her cheek and then carefully tucking any flyaway strands of hair behind her ear. Through all this Jemma stayed perfectly still, never once breaking eye contact with him, never moving, barely breathing until he finally lent down and very slowly and delicately touched his lips to hers.

Jemma closed her eyes and felt two more tears trickle down her cheeks, and as Leo moved his lips against hers she could taste them and she knew he could too. But rather than taint this, it made it all the more richer, the final end of that incredibly long, painful, rich journey the two of them had taken to reach this point, a journey that she hadn’t even realised she was on until she was already so lost in it that she couldn’t have found her way back, even if she’d wanted to.

When Leo pulled back she had resist the urge to grab him back the nap of the neck and pull him down again - God, why had she wasted all these years without knowing the taste of him? He was even making her headache disappear, and yes, logically she knew the rush of dopamine, norepinephrine and adrenaline was actually doing that, but he was causing that rush so it wasn’t much of a stretch, was it? - but by the way his eyes flickered to one side she knew that he’d heard someone approaching.

“Probably not the best place for this, right now?” she asked him with a teasing smile.

“No, no - but -?” he looked back down at her, suddenly unsure. “But it was good, right? We’re good?”

The growing noise of footsteps was the only thing that stopped her from grabbing this incredible man and pulling him onto the gurney with her. “Yes, Leo, we’re good, we’re very, _very_ good, but we’re also very _public_ right now, so …”

“Yes, yes, you’re right …” he nodded, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when Skye, closely followed by May suddenly entered the lab. He dropped her hands and sprung up next to the bed, one hand going automatically to scratch at his ear. “Oh, hello, hi, hi …”

Skye paused a moment in the doorframe, frowning suspiciously, before letting whatever she saw pass by without comment. In spite of her current euphoria Jemma knew straight away that something was very, very wrong. Skye had a deep cut above one eyebrow, and the congealing blood made her look fierce and almost wild. Behind her May was holding herself like a steel rod, her hands in fists at her side and an ugly look twisting her face.

“What is it?” Jemma asked instantly. “What’s happened?”

“They’ve taken Coulson,” said Skye shortly. “Mack’s prepping the Bus as we speak, and a team lead by Bobbi are leaving as soon as possible.”

“Oh God,” breathed Fitz. Jemma’s gaze switched to May.

“May? Are you alright?”

May’s eyes snapped to hers and Jemma had to keep herself from shrinking back under that jagged glare. She knew in a moment that May was physically fine, but emotionally … she couldn’t remember the last time she saw May truly emotional, with such raw anger and a quivering need to do _something_. Not since …

A little light went off in Jemma’s head. She hadn’t seen May quite off kilter like this since Quinn shot Skye.

“May’s staying here,” said Skye. It was only then that she seemed to notice the massive lump on Jemma’s forehead. “Oh, God Jemma, are you —?”

“I’m fine,” she cut her off before she could fully get the question out. “But you need to go now, see if you can trace down those monsters before the trail goes cold. Get Coulson back.”

Skye’s back straightened and she gave a tight nod towards Jemma as if she’d just received an order, then she was out the door and gone.

Once she was gone Jemma swung her legs over the side of the gurney, blinking heavily against the mild head swim that accompanied the movement, before addressing May. “Are you sure you’re uninjured? I could have a look over you if you’d —?”

“I’m fine,” snapped May, and Jemma instantly closed her lips. Fitz’s eyes darted between the two women nervously as he rocked up onto his toes and back again.

“Well, it’s not as though there isn’t work for us to do right now,” he said, looking around the broken Lab. “We’d best start the clean up operation, I reckon.”

Jemma nodded, glad for the distraction. “Right, I’ll just —”

“No.”

The single word came cold and hard from May, and the two scientists were immediately on their guard. Fitz shuffled slightly closer to Jemma.

“No?” he echoed.

“No,” repeated May, staring them down. “There’s something else the three of us need to do right now, and it isn’t playing the clean up crew. There’s a machine on base, hidden away somewhere, a machine that deals with memories.”

Fitz’s eyes widened in surprise but Jemma was quick to speak. “What machine? I don’t know —”

The two of them jumped when May suddenly grabbed a microscope and hurled it violently against the wall near Fitz’s head, and Jemma was suddenly, terrifyingly aware that this was The Cavalry they were dealing with and memories or no memories Melinda May could still be a horrifying force of nature.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said, and the calm, controlled tone of her voice scared Jemma all the more. This wasn’t a hysterical request or a madness induced demand. May was very much in control of everything she was doing and saying right now, and one way or another she was going to get her what she wanted. “It here and I need you two to use it one me.”

“We can’t …” said Fitz, staring in horror as he slowly shook his head.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” implored Jemma, trying to get things back under control. “If we thought - _for one moment_ \- that it could’ve been used to regain your memories —”

“But memories and the brain are such an unknowable thing,” added Fitz.

“The amount of stress your body would go through —!”

“And the technology is far beyond anything we’d ever dealt with, I couldn’t even reverse engineer it —”

“Not to mention the _pain_ —”

May didn’t say a word, just calmly removed something from behind her back, and suddenly FitzSimmons were silent as they stared down the barrel of the revolver May was now pointing directly at them.

“This is not open to discussion,” she said coldly. “I’m sick of being only half a person. As of now, I'm getting my life back.”


	20. Chapter 20

For Phil, time stopped making sense and every moment was now focused on the next breath. The coppery taste of blood bubbled up against the back of his throat as the air escaped his lungs in a gurgle, only to be sucked back down as he gasped for his next breath. He could feel a crackling inside his ribcage and distantly he was aware that blood was now seeping into his lungs, filling them up and drowning him with his own life force.

 _I’m dying,_ he thought numbly. _Again_. And then, a rather uncharacteristic thought swept past. _This is bullshit._

He felt his body laid out and grunted in surprise and pain as someone slapped a heavy bandage to one of his wounds and pressed down. He cracked his eyes open and tried with all his might to understand the situation he was in right now, but everything above him was nothing more than objects and shapes, light and shadow chasing each other just over his head in a dizzying, unknowable patterns, swirling, connecting, and pulling apart in the blink of an eye. He closed his eyes again and suddenly that wild kaleidoscope was replaced with a single, still image of Melinda. Melinda, just as he’d last seen, with her hands pressed hard to the barrier and tears streaming down her face. He’d wanted to go to her, to reach out and touch her, to kiss away those tears and smooth her hair back from her face, to hold her and never, never let any harm ever come to her again. And he knew he couldn’t. But, still. She was safe. He’d made sure of that. He’d always known in some deep part of himself that, no matter how self reliant Melinda had always been, he’d still go out of his way to ensure her safety if it was the last thing he ever did. And as a bolt of pain shot through his body as another bandage was pressed to the wound in his gut he became acutely aware that it might have very well been his last deed on Earth.

A new stinging pain flared up at the crook of his elbow and confused he opened his eyes once again, struggling to comprehend what was happening to him. He was moving … or rather, he was being moved. The movement of light and shadow suddenly became clear as he realised that he was in a vehicle of some kind and was being transported somewhere. They hit a bump and he gasped in pain as whoever was pressing the bandage to his gut to try and stop the bleeding was jerked around and for a moment pressed down harder than necessary. Also, he was suddenly aware that the agonising pain that had been blurring his vision just moments before was now giving over to a pleasant sort of numbness that was now spreading throughout his body. But this was a different feel from the first time he’d died. It wasn’t like when the pain had become so such that he’d started floating away, this numbness was more like being dumped into ice water and having the current pull you down, keeping you trapped. With a jolt of fear he suddenly realised what there mercenaries were doing to him.

_They’re not trying to kill me — they’re trying to save me._

In any other circumstance Phil would’ve welcomed a rescue with open arms and an extremely eloquent thank-you note, but when masked men invade your base, hurt your people and shoot you three times, you can’t help but view any acts of kindness with extreme suspicion. He tried to move - to do what, even he didn’t know - but agony, loss of blood and now whatever they’d just injected into his bloodstream made his limbs heavy and useless, and unseen hands easily held down his flopping arms. Blackness tickled at the corners of his vision and though he tried to fight it, it was like a thick, black sludge that rose all around him and slowly, heavily, pulled him downwards into total oblivion.

 

* * *

 

When Phil next came to consciousness the world around him was brightly lit and eerily quite. His eyes rolled in his skull for a moment for his lids slowly peeled back and he turned his head slightly in an attempt to get his bearings. He felt something pressing hard into his face, covering his nose and mouth — an oxygen mask. Instinctively he went to raise his hands to remove the mask, until he felt a tug at his wrists and realised that he was cuffed to the bed. His eyes darted around the room, looking for some clue as to where he was or how long he’d been unconscious for, but unfortunately there was very little around him to indicate anything beyond the fact that he was on a bed in a small, windowless room. One thing he knew for certain was that this was most definitely not a hospital room, as aside from the hard bed he was laying on and the one slowly beeping machine next to him, the room was nothing more than a bare concrete box with heavy smell of mildew in the air. A makeshift room.

Phil took a deep breath and grimaced as streaks of white hot agony ran out from his chest and through his entire body, before letting out that breath more slowly and carefully to avoid a repeat of that pain. He knew that he still wasn’t completely out of danger just yet and that even though he’d clearly received fairly good medical attention there was no was that he’d be able to even leave his bed anytime soon. Really, the cuffs were a bit of overkill considering the weakened state he was in, but some smug part of Phil’s mind still felt gratified that they’d considered him enough of a threat to restrain, even with three bullets to the chest. He pressed his head back into the mattress and closed his eyes again, listening intently. There was faint noise coming in from a great distance away, sounds that were both mechanical and human. As he strained to make any sense of what this might be, he was suddenly reminded of the ambient sounds of the Playground. So, he was in their secret base now. For a while he just lay there, trying to make out some clear sound and focusing on his breathing to ensure that the pain didn’t become overwhelming.

After a few minutes of this his mind began to drift, and inevitably he ended up back at Melinda. As always. He hoped she was okay. He hoped that someone had thought to look for her and free her from that prison, as the thought of her trapped down in that dark basement all alone was more painful than his current state, specially considering she was only stuck there because of him. But she’d be fine. Skye would be looking for her, no doubt, and she was more than capable of hacking Melinda free. But had that been the right move, to lock her away? Did he make the right decision? Even though S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are taught from the very beginning that reliving past missions and obsessing over what they should or shouldn’t have done is a useless, time consuming distraction, Phil couldn’t help thinking that if he’d only moved a little faster, if he’d been a little closer, the two of them could right now be trapped in that cell together. Could he have made it? The sound of bullets pinging off the barrier that shielded Melinda echoed inside his skull and he knew, logically, that if he hadn’t’ve raised the barrier when he did, Melinda May could very well be dead by now. A coldness settled in the pit of his stomach, a coldness that had nothing to do with his injuries. That, absolutely, was something he would not allow to happen.

Still, again and again the image of Melinda clawing at the barrier, crying with fear and frustration and rage, calling out to him, it all kept coming back to the forefront of his mind, and again and again he felt a rush of guilt for excluding her from this particular battle. She’s not well, he reminded himself stubbornly. She has no idea how to fight, or how to use a firearm. She needed protecting. But no matter how much he said that, no matter how many times he convinced himself that he’d made all the right decisions, there was still something uncomfortably unnatural about excluding Melinda from any fight.

But there was something else gnawing at his subconscious, something else about Melinda that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Her face flickered up again in his mind’s eye, terrified, just like she had been in the cell, but only this time it was from a different memory. He frowned and let his thoughts drift back to the events that had transpired. Back to when he’d been running through the red lit, dust clogged maze of their damaged base until he’d reach Melinda’s quarters. Of how afraid she’d looked … of how afraid she’d looked when he’d shot a man right in front of her.

A dreadful understanding started to make itself known. At the time he’d thought that she was just scared because some bastard had very nearly put a hole in her head, but now he realised that he’d unknowingly treated her as if she’d seen battle before. He replayed again how he’d had to put down one of the enemy on their way to the Basement and remembered how Melinda had clung to the wall, as far away from the carnage as she could make herself. How she had looked at him with wide, fearful eyes, her mouth hanging open in shock. Phil felt sick. She hadn’t been afraid of the soldiers. She’d been afraid of him.

Instantly a warring voice rose loud and angry within him, crying that it wasn’t true, that she’d never have a reason to fear him, that she knew him, but angrily he pushed that thought aside. She didn’t know him. As heart-wrenching as that was to admit, as far as the two of them had come since her injury, she still didn’t fully know _him_. Hell, she still didn’t full know _herself_! Her horrified face burned itself behind his eyelids. God, what must she think of him? He’d killed people right in front of her, and then had acted as thought it were nothing. _She must think I’m a monster. No,_ he though. _No, I was just acting like an agent. Just as she would’ve._

Suddenly Melinda’s face blurred and changed, becoming younger, bloodier. Bahrain. She looked up at him and he could see her soul had been ripped apart. He’d felt a panic rise within him as pure, uncontrolled horror consumed her, as fear, exhaustion and such incredible remorse strangled and twisted and broke the most wonderful woman he’d even known right before his eyes. She’d dropped her head to his chest and he’d pulled her close as she'd wailed and cursed and eventually become far, far too quiet. She’d never fully explained what had happened in that warehouse, and he’d never pushed her for details. But he could guess. He’d never let a word of what he’d thought escape his lips, but he could guess at what went down. She’d pulled out of the field and slowly, unhappily, they’d drifted apart. Some selfish part of him was upset that she’d never confided in him, but he’d been more than happy to respect her wishes and leave her be. As was his way when things became too tough or too complicated in his personal life, he’d thrown himself into his work with renewed vigour — and no partner.

_When I took this job I made a choice, the same choice everyone else here made — this life, over the other one. The one with holiday dinners and PTA meetings, recitals … It’s not easy, but if the time comes to make the hard call, it’s simpler._

He’d seen first hand what loss does to a person. How his father’s death had nearly destroyed his mother. Even as a child he knew the one reason his mother had never fully given over to despair was because of him, because she couldn’t bare the idea of her son loosing both his parents, and while he was selfishly grateful as only a child can be, the pressure of knowing that he kept his mother together was more than enough to force Phil to grow up incredibly quickly. He was recruited to S.H.I.E.L.D. young, when that trauma was healed but still sensitive, and much of what he’d endured affected the decisions that ended up shaping his entire life. He would avoid anything and everything personal. No partner, no family, no-one who would grieve if things should go wrong. And at first he was content with that. SHIELD was all consuming, and any little spare time was easily filled with hobbies and indulgent research.

But that’d all changed when he’d started studying with Melinda May.

An only child to adoring parents, Melinda was smart, eager, dedicated and always ready with a smart comeback for fellow students and peers alike. She was utterly fearless and ready to have it all. It had only taken ten minutes for Phil to fall completely in love with her, and another ten minutes for him to realise that this was something that could never happen, something that was confirmed when they reached the end of their first year at the Academy. They’d just finished their final exams and were now officially off the clock, walking straight out of the hall into the bright sunshine of an unusually warm spring day. Phil remembered how he’d initially started walking back to his dorm room when Melinda had quickly darted in front of him, barring his way.

_“Where do you think you’re going?” she’d asked with a hard expression, and for a split second Phil was unsure whether or not she was joking. He’d always prided himself on being able to get a good read on people and was therefore constantly perplexed that May could spin him around like it was nothing._

_“Uh … to my dorm? To pack?”_

_She gave him a look and put her hands on her hips. “Coulson. Even you can’t tell me that your brain isn’t leaking out your ears right now after all those essays. It’s time to unwind.”_

_“I like writing essays …”_

_She rolled her eyes. “I know you do, but me, I’m only human and I need a break! And you don’t know it, but you do too.” Suddenly a wide, beautiful grin blossomed across her face and she grabbed his wrist. “Follow me!”_

_Soon they were at the back of the massive, ancient building that served as their library, hiding out in a strip of woodland that divided the Academy from a nearby highway. Melinda led him right to the boundary fence where she quickly dropped to her knees, lifted up a section of wire that had a small trench dug underneath it, and quickly slithered through to the other side before Phil could do more than drop his jaw in shock._

_“What are you doing?” he hissed._

_On the other side of the fence Melinda put her hands on her hips impatiently. “Either follow me or go back, but either way you’re not telling anyone about this or you’ll be my personal guinea pig when I try out some of those interrogation techniques we’ve been talking about.”_

_It wasn’t such a hard decision to make in the end, although it did go uncomfortably against the grain for him to break the rules like this. In fact … he wasn’t sure he’d ever broken any rules. Still, he quickly joined Melinda on the other side of the fence, straightening awkwardly and trying vainly to get the dirt streaks out of his white shirt. She’d smiled at him then, but this was something different to before. It was softer, more sincere, and in that moment Phil realised that she hadn’t been sure whether or not he would actually be joining her on the other side of that fence. It hurt a little that she hadn’t trusted him, but it was also somewhat gratifying that he was able to keep her guessing, too._

_“We’re heading into town,” she announced, walking a little way off to a clump of bushes._

_“And how exactly are we going to manage that?” asked Phil, seeing as how the nearest town was a forty minute drive away._

_Melinda merely shot a knowing smile over one shoulder and with a flourish pulled away the brushes to reveal a battered old road motorcycle. Once again, Phil found himself with his mouth hanging open. He’d known that she rode, in fact she’d sometimes talk about how much she missed the freedom a bike offered, but he’d never imagined …_

_“So this is your faithful old bike you’ve been talking about?” he asked, pleased that he sounded somewhat unimpressed. The look Melinda gave him, however, told him he was fooling no-one._

_“That she is,” she smiled, swinging one leg over and kicking her into life with an ease that betrayed an intimate knowledge of the machine. “Coulson, meet Sunny. Sunny, Coulson.” She threw a spare helmet at him before she slipped on her own._

_He raised an eyebrow as he strapped on his helmet. “You named your bike?”_

_“Yes, I did.”_

_“Hmm …”_

_“What?”_

_“Oh, nothing.”_

_“Coulson?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Interrogation techniques. Not lying.”_

_“Oh, I never doubted that,” he said, as he slipped on behind her — and then froze, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides._

_“The best way to do this is for you to wrap your hands around my waist,” she said evenly, and Phil one hesitated for a split second before he carefully put his hands on her hips, while still keeping a respectful distance between their bodies. He felt, rather than heard her sigh. “Phil?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“You’ve never been on a motorbike, have you?”_

_“No … why?”_

_“You need to sit closer and you need to hold on tighter,” she instructed. “And move with me, not against me, okay?”_

_“Yeah, okay, I can manage that,” he said, and before he could think about it any further Melinda twisted the throttle and the two of them were speeding along the bumping dirt before bursting onto the wide, opening highway and hurtling towards town. Phil yelped and threw his arms around her waist, linking them tightly across her stomach and sliding along the seat until they were flush against one another. He peeked over her shoulder and was shocked to see that she was sitting on the speed limit, which somehow felt significantly faster on a bike than in a car. But after the rush of the first few miles wore off Phil found himself extremely comfortable and extremely unwilling to move back even a fraction. Melinda didn’t seem to mind, either._

_Once they reached town and parked Sunny in an alley, Melinda dragged him straight to the nearest bar which, though small and skewing somewhat towards the sleazy end of the spectrum, still had enough personality to make it interesting and lacked patrons to make is noisy. As they walked in the bartender looked up, a weathered old woman with a squat figure, wide face and large hands. Her rather grim exterior fell away the moment she saw Melinda._

_“May, ma darling girl!” she exclaimed, grinning. “Haven’t seen ya here for a while! How’ve ya been? Who’s ya friend?”_

_“I’ve been good, Bernie, and even better as of this afternoon,” smiled Melinda, sliding into a barstool, Phil by her side. “This is Coulson, and he needs to unbutton a little.”_

_Bernie appraised Phil out the corner of her eye and for a split second she bore an uncanny resemblance to Agent Fury. “Does he, now? So, do ya want ya usual, doubled?”_

_“No, not today,” she smiled, clasping her hands together on the top of the sticky bartop. “We’re celebrating.”_

“Oh …?” _Bernie’s eyes slipped between the two of the in a very knowing fashion and Phil felt the back of his neck go hot._

 _“No, no, not like_ that _!” he said quickly, laughing and hoping to God that it didn’t come out as nervous laugher._

_“Well …” said Melinda carefully, turning to look right at him. “It might be a little like that.”_

_It was as if the bottom of the floor had opened up underneath him. “What?”_

_Melinda looked at him calmly, but out the corner of his eye he saw how her fingers were now twisted tightly together._ Oh God _, he thought._ She’s not kidding _. “I brought you out her because I wanted to not only celebrate the end of something, but also because I thought — the two of us — could celebrate the beginning of something, too.” She paused. “But only if you —”_

 _“Yes, yes, very much yes,” Phil nearly tripped over his own tongue getting the words out, and for the first time in his life he completely shut out those little warning bells that were telling him that a romantic entanglement was bound to end badly, one way or the other. “Yes, I —_ really _?”_

 _Melinda giggled — actually_ giggled _— and untwisted her hands so she could set one on his knee. “Really.”_

_Bernie clapped her hands together loudly, making them both jump as she reminded them of her presence. “So,” she said, moving off the grab some bourbon off the shelf. “Celebration it is!”_

_“Yes, indeed,” murmured Melinda as she slid closer and touched her lips to his for the very first time._

But not the last, thought Phil sadly, coming back to the painful present. He would always cherish the memory of Melinda kissing him for the very first time, a sweet and chaste thing in a grimy little bar on a sunny afternoon, but now it was their most recent kiss that burning the brightest in his mind. The one fuelled with passion and longing, but also tainted with a fear of the unknown future. And now he realised that it was a one sided kiss. With a pang he understood that for Melinda, as she was now, that kiss was the very first one they’d shared and there was every chance that she had gone for it purely because she knew that they might not get another chance. It was without the years of history between the two of them, without the ghost of all those other touches and embraces hanging over them. For her, it marked a beginning. For him … well, it might very have marked an end.

They’d stayed all night at that at bar, only leaving in the earliest hours of the morning but not to get back to the Academy, but to stumbling into small small hotel room … and then not leaving for yet another day. What happened next was your typical blazing hot summer romance. But that was where it ended. Many people might say opposites attract, but in their case there were too many differences to be reconciled. By the time they were back at class their relationship had drawn to a close, though their friendship had survived intact and to many people they were still the same old Coulson and May, with no-one ever assuming their working relationship went beyond anything but that. (Although Phil was sure that Fury at least had his suspicions, if not outright knew what had happened between them.)

Phil thought of Melinda as she was, and Melinda now without her memories. She said that she felt something for him, and he was sure that she did, but was their relationship right? Was he right in pursuing this when she was unable to comprehensive decisions about him, when she was only going on instinct and not experience? He took a deep breath, and then moaned as his stitches pulled. Nostalgia’s fine, but it was time to deal with reality. Melinda was safe, he was not, and he needed to figure a way out.

Just then the door to his room opened with a metallic clang and Phil’s eyes snapped open. When he saw who was there he gave a grunt of acknowledgment and rolled his eyes. He might still be too weak to form words from behind his oxygen mask, but he was sure his displeasure was being communicated well enough non-verbally.

“Aw, boss, that’s not very nice. And after I saved your life, too? There’s no pleasing some people, I guess.”

 _Oh, please,_ thought Phil, glaring. _Only Grant Ward would think three bullets to the chest and handcuffs on a gurney would warrant grovelling thanks._

“I can’t take all the credit, though,” he continued, coming closer so he could loom right over Coulson’s bed, and he felt a stab of alarm as Ward started fiddling with the I.V. that ran directly into his arm. He jerked again as the handcuffs, but he was so weak he could barely make them rattle, and so he had to watch, powerless, as Ward pulled out a syringe and injected some unknown substance into his line. “I mean, I just kept you alive on the way over here. But really, it’s Doctor Carrington you need to be thanking.” Coulson looked around the room as a funny feeling swept through his body, but Ward just chuckled and shook his head. “Oh no, no, no, he’s not here right now. No, this is just a little chat between former work colleagues. So …” he drawled out the word. “How have you been?” Coulson closed his eyes, refusing to play along to whatever game this was. “Oh, you can’t block me out that easily. Or … maybe you can? I know you’ve been tested in extreme interrogation situations …” _“Interrogation techniques. Not lying.”_ “… as have we all, but this isn’t an interrogation. I just have a small snippet of news that I think you’d like to hear, just before the good Doctor arrives. The Playground’s gone.”

Coulson’s eyes snapped open. _You’re lying._

Ward grinned, and what made Coulson all the more sick was that there was genuine humour to that smile. Ward was actually enjoying this. “Oh, I know you think I’m lying, but why would I? Ever since you discovered my HYDRA ties, and then proceeded to administer a punishment that was far greater than my crimes — oh, but don’t worry, I don’t hold that against you — I’ve done everything in my power to convince you I could still be on your side. I’ve always told you the truth, haven’t I? And I'm telling the truth now. Once my men cleared out we detonated the remaining bombs, causing a massive implosion. It really was something to witness. It’s gone, Coulson, it’s all gone. You are, officially, the last agent standing.”

It was suddenly hard to breath, and Phil felt himself gasping beneath his mask. He closed his eyes again and tried to fight the panic and despair that was rising within him. _It’s the drug,_ he told himself. _It’s whatever that bastard has put in my system that’s making me feel this. He’s lying, it’s what he does best, he’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying …_

“You know, it’s May I really feel sorry for,” Ward continued, and again Phil opened his eyes to glare at him, trying with all his might to ignore the moisture that was gathering in the corner of his eye and creeping down the side of his face. “What happened to her? Feel free to speak up at any time, I know how you’re so fond of hearing your own voice.” Ward sarcastically cupped one hand to his ear and waited. “No? It’s okay, I figured it out myself. After she set off that bomb at Carrington’s last facility she didn’t manage to get away quite as fast as she’d hoped, did she? I know it wasn’t her intention to burry herself under tonnes of rubble, but I know more than most that intention doesn’t mean much in the long run, does it? I guess she had a few weeks to recover, but after you trapped her down there in my former home … well, it seemed like her fate was merely delayed, not averted.”

Phil could feel himself trembling, a sick, gnawing sensation eating away at the pit of his gut. _May set off the explosion? He’s lying, he’s lying …_ but no matter how many times he said it, he couldn’t get rid of the image of Skye crushed beneath debris, or Fitz and Simmons' broken bodies and wide, staring eyes, of Trip, dead, Bobbi, dead, Mack, dead, Hunter, dead, everyone gone, everything gone _… he’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying …_ of Melinda, trapped in the Basement, screaming in terror as the walls caved in around her, cutting off her voice in an instant, burying her alive …

Ward suddenly reached out to tap Phil playfully on the cheek, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “Come on now, sir,” he said with a tiny, fixed smile. “What’s done is done. You see, all this pain you’re going through, this is all internal. But …” he trailed off, looking over his shoulder as two massive men entered the room. “I can’t lie if I say it won’t also be a little external.” He stood up and stepped away from the bed as Phil jerked once again in his chains, wishing to God he was able to murder that smug son-of-a-bitch where he stood. Ward just laughed at his efforts. “Well this was … cathartic, wasn’t it? I think it was.” He sighed happily. “The Doctor will see you now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I just wrote this up non-stop ... it just sort of happened.
> 
> The quote about choosing S.H.I.E.L.D. over a normal life is from 1x10, The Bridge, when Coulson was speaking to Mike Peterson. This I think is very telling of Coulson's character, and something I always found fascinating and sad. We joke that he's the Dad of S.H.I.E.L.D. and he's off adopting people left right and centre, but here is a man who chose career over family, and I think that's something that weighs on him. And remember, May wanted a family, made no secret about it and was actively planning on one before Bahrain. If you're looking for unreconcilable differences that would've pulled them apart, that's a pretty big one.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading this, I truly touched that you even would!


	21. Chapter 21

Melinda lay flat on her back, stretched out on a hard mattress with the top of her head just inside a bizarre casing. The memory machine was a rather innocent looking device which looked kind of like a futuristic M.R.I. machine that had been stripped down to its bare basics, a white and chrome thing that had hummed quietly into like when Fitz reactivated it, bright blue and white lights flickering into existence around the headpiece. The machine had been hidden away in a quite little storage room that was tucked deep within a far corner of the base, a room that appeared to have missed out on any damage from the attack. It had been sitting harmlessly behind a locked door, covered in a heavy cloth and surrounded by a collection of other contraptions that Melinda could only have guessed the use of. Once she’d made sure that the door was securely locked behind them and the machine was now up and running, Melinda had swung herself up onto the mattress, lay back and had folded her hands on her abdomen, the pistol now resting lightly on her stomach. She’d closed her eyes at that point, unable to take either Fitz’s skittish, scared looks or Simmons’ pained expressions that almost showed an understanding of Melinda’s request, and had tried to sooth her jagged nerves with deep, even breathing. But no matter how much she tried to command her body to obey, her heart kept its rapid tattoo against her ribcage to the point where she began to feel sick and her very limbs where trembling with fear and adrenaline, and FitzSimmons’ palpable terror at what was happening did nothing to ease her own concerns. From above and around her she could hear the scientist’s whispered worries.

“Ohhh, this is not good, this is very not good at all …”

“Fitz, _please_ try and keep calm!”

“What? What? Calm? I am calm! I’m totally the very essence of calm … as we prepare the unholy torture machine that was built by our enemies to use on our friend. Oh, God …”

“I’m right here, you know,” interrupted Melinda drily, eyes still closed, and through all her numbing fears she felt a small burst of humour when the two youngsters fell into immediate and total silence. After a few moments of ringing silence she cracked her eyes open a fraction. To her right Simmons was standing stock still, one hand half extended towards the machine, and for a moment all the two women did was stare at each other. Then Simmons took a shuddering breath and dropped her hand loosely to her side.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

“Yes, I do,” replied Melinda, instantly, calmly. Her eyes then traveled from Simmons to Fitz, who was standing to her left. “You know I do.”

Fitz tucked his arms into a tight fold that seemed to make him seem both smaller and harder than usual. “No. No, I really don’t.”

Simmons grimaced. “Fitz …”

“No!” he said. “No. Look, May, there is no reason, no reason at all why you have to be the one to do this! Bobbi and Hunter and - and - and _everyone else_ is out there looking for Coulson right now! What good is, is torture going to do anyone? And … we don’t even know if this will work! We could do further damage! We could _kill you!_ I know it’s terrible to hear this, God knows I know, but there really is nothing more you can do right now!” For a split second his mouth hung open, trembling as if there were more words that wanted to get out, but then all he did was press his lips together and give Melinda a hard stare.

Throughout this entire tirade Melinda had keep her eyes impassively on Fitz’s face, although she was aware of Simmons’ half exasperated, half nervous twitching just out the corner of her eye. Once he’d fallen quiet she calmly let the air remain empty for a long stretch of time, just long enough that Fitz started to become visibly uncomfortable, before she spoke.

“I am aware of the risks,” she said evenly. “You’ve made that all abundantly clear. And you’re right; I don’t have to do this.” Both Fitz’s and Simmons’ jerked in surprise at this confession. “I know that. I know that I can - and probably should - leave this all to those who know better. But … if it wasn’t for my memory, I would be the one who knows better. Wouldn’t I? Tell me I’m wrong,” she paused and swung her gaze from Fitz to Simmons and back, but neither of them contradicted her. “But you’re wrong, so very wrong, when you say that I don’t need to do this. Fitz, I need to do this. I need to be whole again. I need … I need to get him back.” Her voice faded away as the sentence ended and for a moment her eyes were very distant before she snapped back to the present. “I am sorry to put the two of you in this position, I truly am. And I’m sorry I drew a weapon on you.” Her hand twitched guiltily around the grip of the pistol. “But I needed you to help me, and I also needed you to be able to say that I forced you against you wills to do this, just in case … just in case.”

Fitz looked distraught, arms still folded tightly and his head slowly shaking back in forth as if trying his best to deny everything that Melinda was saying. “But you could die, in agony,” he said, his voice only just audible. “I don’t … I don’t understand …”

To her side Simmons gave a shaky sigh. “Yes, you do,” she said, smiling through her tears and looking at Fitz as if he were missing the most obvious point in the world. “Fitz … she needs to do this in the same way … in the same way you needed to give my your oxygen.”

It was as if his entire body turned to iron as he stared wide eyed at Simmons, and in a heartbeat Melinda finally understood everything that was between these two youngsters. Fitz stared at Simmons as if he’d never seen her before, and then dropped his gaze to where Melinda was laying passively in the memory machine, ready for whatever was about to come. Then, after what seemed like an age, he slowly loosened his arms and let them drop to his sides, shoulders slumped, looking not at all happy but rather resigned and accepting. Without a thing being said the three people in the room silently agreed that this was now happening, no matter what, and Simmons wordlessly began preparing the machine for activation.

“I need to take the gun,” said Simmons softly, her hands hovering near Melinda’s clasped ones as if unsure what would happen if she attempted to relieve her of her weapon. “I’ve seen first hand what happens to a person inside this thing and it would be best for everyone if you weren’t holding onto a loaded weapon.” Melinda hesitated for a moment before handing over the gun, but as she saw how Simmons hands trembled ever so slightly she suddenly feeling a wave of shame wash over her.

“I would never have hurt you,” she blurted out, causing Simmons to look down at her in surprise. “You know that, right?”

Simmons nodded and reached out with her free hand to grasp Melinda’s cold fingers. “I know. We know,” she added, looking over at Fitz who nodded once. She then turned away, depositing the gun on a bench somewhere, before turning back to the machine with a look of trepidation. “We’re going to have to strap you down,” she said carefully. “To stop you from hurting yourself, or one of us.”

Melinda pressed her lips together and nodded before Fitz and Simmons caged her on either side and strapped her wrists into place, as well as passing another restraint across her chest, one that had something that was monitoring her vitals as well. Melinda continued to breath deep and even, closing her eyes throwing out a prayer to the universe that this would work.

Simmons paused a moment before activating the machine. “Are you ready?”

A vision of Phil flared up in her mind, bright and clear. “I’m ready.”

A heavy click sounded as Simmons turned the machine on.

There was a whir —

— a flash of white light —

— and then everything that Melinda had ever been was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

_**… intermediate flashes of light and sound and happiness and voices and music and anger and singing and screaming and pressure and pleasure and breathlessness and boredom and faces and spaces and stars and colours and shadows and shapes …** _

 

* * *

 

 

_The apartment was small and had the airy, empty silence of a place that hadn’t been used for a long while. Melinda paused in the entrance, casting a blank look around at the generic furniture and blank walls before slowly closed the door behind her. The lock clicked into place with such finality that for a moment she got the distinct impression that she’d just locked herself in a prison. Or a self imposed exile._

_The late afternoon sunlight the colour of honey filled the rooms and small flicks of dust floated lazily through giving the apartment an otherworldly feel to it. It was quiet. It was neat. It was high up in a tall building in a strange new town. It was exactly what Melinda had requested and as she gently placed her luggage on the floor and appraised the place, she felt immensely satisfied._

_And unbelievably, incredibly, alone._

_She walked into the tiny kitchen and poured a glass of water. There was no coffee maker here, no juicer for making her own brand of health tonic. There was no special cup, no favourite knife, no personal effects of any kind. Just as she’d known it would be. When she’d made a request for a transfer out of Ops and to Administration, she’d also requested transfer to a new town and had decided to take advantage of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s many furnished apartments that had multiple uses. Usually these sort of requests were either outright denied or buried in such a myriad of paperwork that approval was never met, but considering the events of the past few months she was sure that there had been some level of compassion for her, some deeper level of understanding as to why she’d request such a thing._

_God, she missed her husband._

_She put the glass down and pressed her hands onto the cold kitchen top, face blank but body trembling, and this time there was no-one to press up behind her, no warm strength to lean on, no-one to take her hand._

_She felt an awful blend of loneliness and relief roll around inside her._

 

* * *

 

 

_She ran as quick as she could around the back of the couch, squealing with laughter as she skidded on the wooden floor, her little legs moving as fast as they could as a great lumbering figure rose up behind her all outstretched arms and a deep, rumbling chuckle that reverberating though the air. Suddenly she was upside down, the world spinning around her in a wonderful kaleidoscope as she was plucked off the floor as if she weighed nothing and swung up into her father’s arms. She shrieked in delight and flailed around like a wild thing until her tiny hands finally managed to grab a fist full of her dad’s shirt, and with no little effort she scrambled up and around onto her father’s shoulders, her head suddenly just scrapping the ceiling._

_“Not too high, Mels!” Her dad’s voice came from below her as she continued to giggle, her hands now splayed out across her dad’s face, unknowingly poking him in the eye. Big hands reached up and over, grabbing at her shoulders and swinging her off and around until she was once again upside down, her head hanging around her dad’s knees. A new wave of laughter erupted from Melinda, the type of laughter that adults only just remember and rarely replicate._

_Without warning Melinda was swung around once more and was back on her feet on the ground, just as another giant entered the room. With a shriek Melinda tore off again, running at this new person and flinging herself around their legs, her fingers catching at the material of the stockings. “Mommy!”_

 

* * *

 

 

_She was freezing, absolutely freezing. Laying on her stomach on the cold, hard ground in the middle of the night, Agent May held her night goggles up to her face, carefully watching trucks pass in and out heavily guarded base, a few bored soldiers pulling the nightshift wandering lazily up and down the barbed wired fence. So far activity on the base had been minimal, and as this was now the third night of surveillance May was feeling more than a little antsy with the whole process. And she wasn’t the only one._

_“Are they_ absolutely _sure that this is the base he’s being kept at?” asked Clint Barton for about the millionth time._

_“I don’t know, why don’t you go down there and ask them?” she snarked without moving an inch._

_She heard him sigh and shift slightly next to her. “That’s actually not a half bad idea. Get out, get some exercise, meet new people …”_

_“The mission is to gather intel, that’s all.”_

_He sighed. “We got that. Truck, truck, truck and — oh look! — another truck!” he exclaimed, just as yet another truck trundled though the check point._

_A tiny smirk appeared on May’s face, hidden in the darkness. “You’re just annoyed that Hand’s making you use a rifle.”_

_“I hate it,” he said immediately. “And she knows I’m better with my bow.”_

_“I will never understand why you choose something that went out of style with the plague over state of the art weaponry.”_

_“Says the woman who uses her fists over anything else,” he shot back. She didn’t answer, but she did allow her smirk to bloom into a full grin. After a few moments of glorious silence Barton added, “Besides, Coulson lets me use my bow.”_

_May rolled her eyes. “Of_ course _he does.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_“Coulson’s weird, right?” said Garrett as the two of them jogged around the oval just next to the Academy, their breath puffing out in front of them in tiny clouds._

_“Couldn’t say,” answered Melinda, not wholly interested in this conversation and slightly regretting this jog. Garrett was a good guy, funny and smart, but he liked to talk a little too much. She liked to train in silence._

_“C’mon, May, you’ve seen him around,” said Garrett. “It’s like he’s out on a mission or something.” When Melinda just shot him a sidelong look he elaborated. “He’s trying to be the best at everything, and I mean, props to him for that, but it’s like he’s trying to make the rest of us look bad. He’s always the first to put his hand up in class, always stays late, always to first guy in line. And he’s got his weird hobbies.”_

_Melinda’s mind suddenly went into overdrive at the phrase ‘weird hobbies’. With Garrett, that could mean almost anything. But, deciding that was none of her business, she just shrugged. “We haven’t really worked together yet, so I don’t know him, but he seems alright. Eager, yeah, but aren’t we all? I don’t see how he’s weird.”_

_“No? Ah, maybe it’s just me,” he said flippantly. “But when you consider what he saw as a kid — you heard about what happened to his dad, right?”_

_Melinda suddenly felt a cold warning in her gut and knew this conversation had to come to an immediate end. She didn’t like gossip and she sure as hell didn’t like gossip about a fellow cadet’s family. “No, I haven’t heard anything and I don’t want to hear anything. If you want to talk about people behind their back, go join a stitch-and-bitch. I’m here to train.” And putting on a burst of speed she quickly peeled away from Garrett, leaving him in her dust._

 

* * *

 

 

_“… well, all things considered, it ended remarkably well,” said Maria Hill quietly, as she and Melinda stood a little distance away from Coulson was introducing Billy Ryan to a S.H.I.E.L.D. therapist. Billy Ryan was a teenager from Christchurch, New Zealand, who’d somehow developed the ability to control temperatures. While that by itself didn’t sound too dangerous, Billy wasn’t under full control of his powers just yet and had not only accidentally given his girlfriend hypothermia, but had nearly burnt down his high school before S.H.I.E.L.D. intervened. May, Coulson and Hand were the welcome wagon, and had been more welcome than usual in this case, with young Billy almost beside himself with relief that there was an organisation in the world that was offering its help._

_“He’s just a kid,” muttered Melinda, arms crossed._

_“Yes, but we’ve found him early,” said Hill. “And we’ll be able to help him through these changes. He’ll be one of the lucky ones.”_

_Melinda’s attention shifted from Billy to the new man Coulson was speaking to. In fact, she’d been sneaking looks at this newcomer from the very moment he’d arrived. This man was the very essence of ‘tall, dark and handsome’, and he seemed very open and calm. She could tell that Coulson respected him from the way they interacted and Billy already seemed to be warming up to him, a good sign if Melinda ever saw one._

_“His name’s Andrew Garner,” Hill said suddenly, making Melinda snap her head back around._

_“What? I —”_

_“You were staring, May,” smiled Hill. “And, just to let you know, whenever you’re looking away, he’s looking at you.”_

_Melinda’s eyebrows rose at this and then, just to be sure, she sneaked another glance over her shoulder. Just as Andrew lifted his eyes towards her._

_Their eyes met. And in an instant Melinda knew she couldn’t let this man walk away from her today without at least getting his number. At least._

 

* * *

 

 

 _Their first kiss. When Melinda pulled away she was more than a little pleased to see that Phil’s face was flushed an adorable shade of pink, and his eyes remained closed for a fraction of a second before he rejoined her back in the world, giving her a wide, happy smile. Her own lips still tingled and when Bernie planted two glasses of some strange, dark liquid before them and for a moment she was reluctant to wash away the taste of him._ Oh well, _she thought, bringing to glass to her lips and smiling as Phil mirrored her._ That definitely won’t be our last kiss.

 

* * *

 

_“So there’s definitely nothing between the two of you?” Andrew casually asked as he speared a portion of potato on the end of his fork._

_They were in an absolutely lovely restaurant, the type of place that Melinda only went to on undercover ops, where she’d be doled up beyond belief and tottering around in unbearably uncomfortable shoes, smiling like a fool for total strangers. Generally, she hated places like this. However, here with Andrew she finally was able to appreciate the finer qualities of such establishments and actually enjoy them — although this might also have something to do with the fact that she could pick her own clothes and wear flat shoes._

_She smiled at his question, not at all bothered by it. In fact, she was charmed at how Andrew liked to address things head on. A lot of things about Andrew charmed her. “There was, once,” she admitted, before bringing her hand to her face as she felt a blush coming on. “God, I’ve never told anyone about this! It was when we were both S.H.I.E.L.D. cadets, and it only lasted a summer.”_

_“Just a summer?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You seem very close.”_

_“We are,” said Melinda, taking a sip of wine. “We’ve known each other for years, trained together, did some of our first missions together. He’s my closest friend and yes, I do love him. In my own way.”_

_Andrew pulled an exaggerated face and leaned back. “Oh? Should I feel threatened?”_

_Melinda burst out laughing. She couldn’t imagine Andrew feeling threatened by anyone. “Well, if I thought you were the type of man who was easily threatened, you’d’ve never made it to the second date.”_

_Andrew smiled softly and leaned back in. “You’re right, I’m not worried about you and Coulson. I am, however, a little surprised that you’d share that kind of information with me so early on.”_

_Melinda narrowed her eyes. “Is this Drew or Dr Garner I’m talking to now?”_

_Andrew laughed. “Both? But really, Mel, I am curious …?”_

_She sighed. “I have a lot of close male friends and I’ve found, in the past, that that doesn’t always sit well with the people I date. Some have even made me choose.” She paused and looked Andrew right in the eye. “And I’m not about to give up years of friendship for anything.”_

_“And you shouldn’t have to,” he nodded seriously. “I know where you’re coming from. And you’re right, it is best to get these kind of things out in the open as soon as possible.”_

_Melinda nodded and took another sip. “Well, in that case, what’s your big, bad secret that usually send your dates running?”_

_Andrew bit his lip, his eyes flickering in thought. “Well … I want kids. I really want kids. If … if this became more … if we became more … I just want to let you know right from the start that I want the whole two kids, white picket fence and PTA meetings. I want all of that.” He paused, and Melinda felt her heart skip a beat as he looked up at her with such uncertainty. “But that’s usually a deal breaker with a lot of people so I thought I’d put it out early. So … what do you think?”_

_She tried her hardest to suppress her grin, but she could feel her face moving despite her best efforts. She raised her glass and Andrew followed suit._

_“To the white picket fence!” she announced happily, and they clinked glasses._

 

* * *

 

 

_ Melinda sat on a chair that was a little too large for her, her legs dangling just above the floor. Her hands were folded in her lap, the skin of her knuckles torn and bleeding, and behind a closed door she could hear the muffled sobs of Conner McInnes. She was in trouble. _

_She’d never been to the principal’s office before and although she was yet to go inside she already knew that this was the single worst moment of her life. Everything was terrible. Everything. They’d called her parents and she’d been told that her mother — her mother! — was on her way to the school and that they were going to have a meeting. Melinda could feel her lower lips trembling and she twisted her sore hands in her lap as the secretary watched impassively._

_The fast click of heels against the floor announced her arrival and Melinda shrank against the back of her chair as her mother came into view. Lian May looked immaculate as usual and with one sweep of the office she located and was instantly in front of her daughter._

_“Melinda?” she inquired softly. Melinda just curled even further in on herself and refused to look her mother in the eye._

_The door to the principal’s office opened and Mr Gardener stepped out. Just behind him Melinda could see Conner, still weeping, curled up on his mother’s lap. Conner’s mother shot Melinda a look of pure venom and once again she wished with all her heart that she could just disappear._

_“Mrs May?” Mr Gardener asked, extending a hand, and when her mom nodded and shook he continued. “I’m terribly sorry that we must meet under these conditions but —”_

_“You told me my daughter had been fighting,” said Lian, cutting across any unnecessary parts of the conversation._

_Mr Gardener nodded grimly. “Frankly, I’m shocked at this behaviour, it’s not at all like Melinda.”_

_Even though she didn’t look up she could feel her mother’s eyes on the top of her head. “No. It isn’t.”_

_Before they could go any further Mrs McInnes stormed out of the principal’s office and marched right up to Lian. “Are you the mother?” she demanded shrilly. “Are you the one who raised that little delinquent?”_

_Lian looked coolly into Mrs McInnes’ red face. “Yes.”_

_“Then can you tell me exactly why your daughter laid her hands on my son!”_

_Lian raised one fine eyebrow and then glanced over at where Conner was now standing in the doorway. It seemed that while his mother was now occupied, he was able to control his crying. “Your son there?” she asked. “That boy who’s at least a foot taller than Melinda, and probably weighs twice as much?”_

_Mrs McInnes puffed up indignantly. “What has that got to do with —”_

_“Excuse me,” said Lian, cutting off Mrs McInnes as effectively as she’d cut of Mr Gardener. She came right in front of Melinda and kneeled down so they were now at eye level. She said nothing, merely waited, and after a few moment Melinda looked up. “Qiaolian,” she asked softly. “What happened?”_

_Melinda twisted her hands once more before she took a deep breath. “Conner kept annoying me. He pulled at my hair, he pulled at my shirt. I told him to stop. I told the teacher, and she told me to ignore him. But … he didn’t stop.”_

_Melinda knew right away that Lian was furious, even though her face was impassive. However, it seemed that no-one else in the room had any idea. “And what happened next?”_

_“At lunch time he got in my way and wouldn’t move,” said Melinda, her voice tiny. “He kept stepping in front of me and — and — I hit him.”_

_“She did more than that!” exclaimed Mrs McInnes. “Conner said she kicked him too, knocked him right on the ground, and then jumped on him, attacking my baby like some wild animal!”_

_Liam nodded coldly. “I understand that you’re upset right now, but let me make something completely clear. I do not have any issue with Melinda punching your son.” Mrs McInnes’ mouth dropped open but Lian continued right on. “I do not care that she kicked him. I do not care about those crocodile tears your boy seemed to have wept, because they appear to have stopped now.” Mrs McInnes’ head snapped around to where Conner was standing, and he quickly hide his face in an attempt to replicate those tears. “There is only one thing I am concerned about, and it is this;” she turned to Mr Gardener. “Why is it that this boy was allowed to constantly lay his hands on my daughter, and yet the staff here did nothing to stop it?”_

_Mr Gardener’s mouth dropped open and for a moment all her did was splutter, shooting a helpless look at the secretary who was now wholly involved in some other work to the point where she was unable to look up from her desk. But before he could get a word out Mrs McInnes charged in._

_“Do you really think that a bit of harmless fun justifies my boy being beaten?” she asked._

_“Do you really think constant harassment is harmless?” retorted Lian, her voice like ice._

_Mrs McInnes laughed hysterically. “Harassment? They are children!”_

_“And as parents we have the right to teach them better than what you have done,” sneered Lian. She then extended a hand to Melinda, who quickly grasped onto it and hopped off the stool, sliding in close to her mother’s side. Lian turned once again to Mr Gardener. “I am taking my daughter home now. She is not coming back to this school until I am sure that this boy here, and any teachers involved, have been dealt with in the proper manner.” And without a backwards glance Lian march them right out of the school._

_Once they were past the gates Lian stopped, knelt down, and pulled Melinda into a firm hug. Melinda dropped her head to her mother’s shoulder, breathed in her perfume, and began to sob._

_“I thought you were angry with me!”_

_“Never,” her mom whispered into her ear. “I will always love you, no matter what, and I will always be here to protect you.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_Melinda sat at her desk and quietly picked up a stack of papers. Level Three, debrief reports. Copied, filed, set aside. Next._

_She liked her desk. She liked her space. Ever since she transferred to Administration she knew that everyone here had been waiting for the day when she would be begging to transfer back. She’d heard the whispers and seen those long looks from strangers, those people who’d heard about The Cavalry and who couldn’t understand why such an incredible, badass agent would be content with mind-numbing paperwork._

_She liked the mind-numbing paper work. She wasn’t required to think. It was quiet. It was perfect._

_She was focused on her tasks, but she was still a trained ops agent. So when the energy in the office changed, her head lifted and she looked around curiously. Just outside past the slatted windows, she could see people running back and forth, and faintly she could hear phones ringing at an alarming frequency. She straightened at her desk and looked about her, exchanging confused looks with her co-workers._

_Suddenly her work cell beeped, at the same time all other cells in the office went off. She reached over and quickly swiped the screen, looking at the message._

_ALERT. LEVEL 7 PROTOCOL NOW IN PLACE. REPORT TO S.O._

_In an instant the perfect quiet of her office was shattered by chatter from her usually mute co-workers. They rose from their desks and filed out, Melinda following close behind, her hands white knuckled around her phone. As the rest of her colleagues headed towards the Steel Room, where emergency annulments were made, she quickly ducked into an empty room and swiped open her phone to press a familiar number._

_When he didn’t answer straight away she already knew that something was terribly wrong. After waiting for an agonising twenty-eight rings Coulson finally answered the phone._

_“May?”_

_“What’s going on?” she asked with preamble, keeping her voice level so that he wouldn’t know exactly how terrified she’d been._

_“Have you been briefed?” She didn’t answer and even though she knew he couldn’t see her glare, she was pretty damn sure that he knew what she was doing anyway. “Yes, you’re right, sorry,” he said, sighing. “Pegasus has fallen.”_

_May blinked at this, spun. “Fallen? Who’s taken it?”_

_“It hasn’t been taken, May, it’s fallen. It’s imploded, collapsed. It’s gone.”_

_It took a moment for May to fully process what he was saying. “How?”_

_“Alien technology. Some Norse god from Asgard.”_

_“Thor?” she asked, her heart rate increasing ever so slightly._

_“No, not Thor,” said Coulson evenly, although she was sure he just rolled his eyes. “His brother. The one that sent a giant robot that levelled a town.”_

_“What does he want?”_

_“War,” said Coulson simply, and May felt cold. “Fury’s decided to enact the Avenger’s Initiative. I’m on my way to Stark’s new place in New York right now.”_

_May smirked. “That sounds like fun.”_

_“I’m absolutely thrilled,” he said flatly. “But is that the only reason you called?”_

_She hesitated. She could hear the unasked question that has hung between them since the day she resigned from ops. He wanted to know if she wanted to go back into the field._

_A million different thoughts ran through her mind and for a second she was genuinely tempted to walk straight out of Admin and join Coulson on his way to Stark Tower. He’d take her in a heartbeat, and she knew Fury and Hill would accept her return without question, particularly if the situation was as dire as it seemed to be. But then the image of a young girl appeared in her mind and she was paralysed with fear._

_She couldn’t. She just couldn’t._

_“You don’t need me,” she said gently. “I’m sure you’d be able to handle Stark on your own.”_

_“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said, and there was the sound of movement on the other side of the phone. “I told you about what he did to the prototype of Cap’s shield, didn’t I?”_

_“You did.”_

_“Disgraceful. But I’m here now … and I can tell you, I’m impressed. This tower really is something else.”_

_“Do I hear a compliment for Mr Stark?”_

_“God, no. This is all Pepper Pott’s work, I can tell. It’s too stylish and not gaudy enough for Stark. May …”_

_“Yes, I know,” she said, folding one arm under her chest. “Do good,” she echoed Drew, and only realised she did an hour later._

_“Talk to you later.”_

_He hung up._

_He never called her back._

 

* * *

 

 

Simmons and Fitz jumped as May spasmed violently on the machine, her eyes squeezed shut and her face frozen in a terrible mask of pain.

“We need to stop it!” cried Fitz.

Simmons shook her head, eyes bright and lips pressed together. “If we pull her out now, we’ll kill her.”


	22. Chapter 22

_“Please, Melinda, don’t do this.”_

_Melinda paused in the motions of her packing, her heart like a heavy stone in her chest as Andrew’s gentle voice cracked with pain just behind her. She was standing in their room — his room, really. They hadn’t shared a bed for nearly three months now, hadn’t kissed, had barely touched, and while he was waiting for things to get better she was beginning to feel that they never would. There was something deeply wrong with her, and it wasn’t just the guilt of living with what she did. It was the horror, the absolute horror, of knowing that she was capable of such disgusting, unspeakable acts. She felt broken, she felt unnatural, and there were times when she wondered that Andrew could even look at her and somehow still fail to see this hideous creature she’d become._

_The creature she must’ve have always been, in a way._

_Without looking behind her she resumed her packing._

 

* * *

 

 

_“I’m very happy for you, Mels,” her father murmured softly as the two of them slowly walked, arms linked, through the local park that was bright and clear and awash with the sounds of summer. “Andrew is a wonderful man.”_

_Melinda smiled and moved a little closer to her dad, resting her chin in his shoulder momentarily. Even though she had grown to be much taller than her father, she never really felt it. She was still, always, his girl. “He really is,” she agreed happily. “Although … I hope you’re not too upset about how it all went down?”_

_“The elopement?” he asked, before shrugging. “I won’t lie … I do feel a little sad to have missed out on such a pivotal moment of your life.” Melinda felt her heart sink, but was quickly saved by his next words. “But if your mother and I wanted you to be anything overall, it’s happy. And you are. You have always been the kind of person to go about life in your terms, and that’s all you did when you and Andrew ran away. Besides,” he pulled her a little closer as a father and son on pushbikes sped past into the opposite direction. “The fact that you came home straight after the honeymoon shows us where your heart lies. It really is wonderful to be able to welcome a new son into the family.”_

_Melinda glanced over her shoulder at where the father and son were rapidly receding into the distance. “And you might be welcoming some even more additions sooner or later.”_

_He chucked, deep and slow, and patted her hand. “Oh, I’m not pressuring you for that just yet!” he said, before pausing and making a contemplative face. “But … while we’re one the subject … have you and Andrew discussed names yet? Because mine’s quite strong and traditional, as you know!”_

_Melinda laughed out loud, but rather than addressing that issue just said, “We’d better be getting home. Andrew’s been alone with Mom for just over an hour now.”_

_“Yes, she’ll just be wrapping up the interrogation,” nodded her father seriously, just before a smile broke free. They took a turn and wended homeward._

 

* * *

 

 

_“You have to admit, this is more comfortable than a motorbike,” smiled Phil as they cruised down the highway, top down, wind whipping her hair around her face, the sun was hot on her shoulders. The first thing she’d discovered about Phil was that, while he wasn’t exactly a rev-head, he most definitely had a special place in his heart for a certain ‘Lola’._

_Melinda just pulled a face. “Oh, lets not do this again. I know your stance on this — four wheels good, two wheels bad. I get it.”_

_Phil just laughed heartily and reached out one hand to cup lightly at the back of Melinda’s neck, gently massaging as they drove along. Melinda purred in appreciation and closed her eyes, giving into the sensations of the moving car, the warm sun, and Phil’s fingers._

 

* * *

 

 

_She was beyond comfortable. Warm and lazy and curled up around her husband. The sun was only just beginning to rise and the light in their bedroom was a pale, watery colour that only just illuminated Andrew’s face. Melinda propped her head up on her hand and did nothing more than just watch while he slept. It was quiet, with only the faintest sounds of songbirds coming from outside, and in this still morning light she had never felt more content._

 

* * *

 

 

_Her mother found her in the kitchen, tears running freely down her face as she tucked into the chocolate stash that had been not so cleverly hidden at the back of the fridge. Wordlessly she joined her daughter at the counter and snapped off a portion, chewing it carefully before posing her question. “Do you want to talk about it?”_

_“This is the worst day of my life!” exclaimed Melinda, her sobs redoubling. “Emma told Simran that I told Brad that she liked him, but I_ didn’t _! But now she thinks I did and she_ hates _me! I don’t know why Emma would_ do _that!”_

_“Well, Emma sounds like a backstabber to me,” commented her mom coolly._

_Melinda sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, only feeling a slight sense of shame when her mother pointedly handed her a tissue. “Simran yelled at me in front of_ everyone _. God, I’ve never felt so … so …”_

_At this point her mother reached over and pulled her under her arm, right up next to her heart. “I know. You’ve never really been hurt before, Qiaolian, and it’s a terrible thing to have to go through, the betrayal of a friend.”_

_“You make it sound so big,” muttered Melinda into her mother’s blouse._

_“It is big, for you,” said her mom._

_Melinda sighed. “I never want to feel this bad again.”_

_Her mother made no answer._

 

* * *

 

 

_Melinda had pressed down on the ‘receive’ button and had the phone to her ear before it had even completed its first ring. “Hill?”_

_“May,” said Hill, and despite her voice being crisp as usual Melinda could hear the tones of exhaustion running through that one word. “Where are you now?”_

_“Still at The Hub, as you damn well know,” snapped Melinda. It had been three days since Phil had called her from Stark Tower and in that time the entire world had changed. The attack on New York, the sky ripping open and wave upon wave of alien creatures descending upon innocent civilians, the Avengers, now out in the open and already regulated to God-like status across the entire globe … S.H.I.E.L.D. out in the open and now known to the general public. “What is going on?”_

_“Are you somewhere private?”_

_Melinda looked around the restroom she’d hid herself in, feeling as if the floor was slowly peeling away from her, leaving her tottering at the side of a ledge that stretched on into an abyss. “What is it, Hill?”_

_Hill sighed. “May … it’s Coulson …” She hesitated and Melinda suddenly knew exactly what she was about to say a moment before she did. “He’s … he didn’t make it, Melinda. He died in the line of duty.”_

_Melinda felt a bizarre weightlessness, as if she were somehow outside her own body and was watching the whole thing dispassionately. Distantly she heard herself ask, “How?”_

_“It was before the battle of New York,” said Hill, her voice somehow distorted and faint. Did they have a bad connection? “On the Helicarrier. He was killed by Loki.”_

_“Where is Loki now?” asked Melinda calmly. She thought she sounded calm, she was calm. Her legs felt funny. Her stomach felt sick. Was she coming down with something? “What’s being done with him?”_

_“He’s Asgard’s problem now. He’s being taken back by Thor to be dealt with there.” There was a pause. Then, “Melinda?”_

_“I’m here,” she replied instantly, then hesitated. Was there something more she should be saying? Was there something more she should be doing? He’s Asgard’s problem now. Whatever that meant. So there was nothing she could do to him. Her free hand curled into a fist, but for the first time in her life she felt no strength behind that action. For the first time in her life, she knew that she would be completely unable to throw a punch. She was shaking. She thought she was going to throw up. “I … Maria?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“What … what happens now?”_

_Maria sighed. “It’s too early to say. He had no family, no spouse, no close relatives, so until we read his will we won’t know exactly what his wishes are.”_

_“Someone needs to tell Audrey,” said Melinda automatically._

_“Who?”_

_“Someone he’s seeing.”_

_“Were they close?”_

_It happened just as Maria used the proper tense. This wasn’t about Phil being close to someone, not anymore. Maria was asking her if they_ were _close._ Past tense _. And just like that the news hit her full on._

_He was dead. He was dead. Phil Coulson was dead, gone. Just like that. Just gone. Melinda was finding it hard to breath … or was she breathing too much? She felt hollow, she felt too much, and from a far off place she could hear someone saying her name._

_“Melinda? Melinda are you still there?”_

_“I have to go,” she gasped out. She tried to swipe the phone closed but her hands weren’t working properly and without really knowing how it happened the phone slipped out of her fingers, the screen shattering as it hit the tiled floor._

_She was crying before she knew it, her breath coming in agonised gasps, her legs collapsing beneath her and a sharp pain jolting through her body as her knees hit the floor. Ever since she was a child crying was an immensely painful experience for her, an ugly, raw thing. Her lungs felt too small to suck in the air she desperately needed, her heart felt too large, her eyes burned and her face ran with tears and spit and snot._

_He was gone. Forever. And alone on the floor of a workplace bathroom, Melinda mourned him._

 

* * *

 

 

May rolled her head back and forth, her face still fixed in a grimace of pain but her body now more relaxed than it had been. As Simmons watched, yet another tear leaked out from her closed lids and ran down to get lost in her hair. She glanced up at Fitz who was as far away from the machine as he could get, one arm folded tightly across his chest and with his other hand at his mouth, and she could tell he was desperately trying not to bite at his fingernails, and awful habit he sometimes fell back on when he was stressed.

“How much longer do you think this will gone one for?” he asked.

Simmons shook her head helplessly. “I have absolutely no idea, this is all well beyond anything we’ve ever tried before.”

Fitz stared down at where May was now whimpering on the table. “How do we know if it’s even working?”

Simmons swallowed. “We don’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Were is this going, Melinda?” Phil asked softly into the dark._

_They were laying together on a well worn bed in a modest motel. Summer was nearly over and for the first time there was a bite of coldness in the air, causing them to pull the covers right up over their entwined bodies. They’d been on the road for weeks now, both deciding not to go home over the summer but rather to travel through the great western parts of the country, going all the way to the Grand Canyon before cycling back. It had been a trip born of pure impulse where Melinda had been sure that her parent’s wouldn’t mind her absence too much, although Phil had been more than a little cagey about what his mother’s reaction would be. And it had been wonderful, an incredible, freeing journey where she’d fallen head over heals in love with Phil Coulson, to the point where she couldn’t even begin to remember the strange little nerd Garrett had pointed out all those months ago._

_“What are you talking about?” murmured Melinda, finding his hand under the blanket and lazily tracing the lines of his fingers with her own. But her words were only a front. She knew that this was coming._

_Phil sighed, also aware that she was trying her best to delay the inevitable. “I’m talking about us — this. Melinda … these past few weeks …” he trailed off and sighed again, and she felt him twisted around so his lips grazed against her temple. “I’ve never felt this way … about anyone … ever. And … you know, I never intended to.”_

_Melinda closed her eyes against his touch, seeing the inevitable end of this relationship rushing up to meet them. “We don’t have to do this …”_

_“But then what?” he countered. “We just keep on going until everything we are just becomes too different to ignore? Until this stops being wonderful and starts being a cage?”_

_She opened her eyes and rolled so she could look at him, his face nothing more than planes of light and shadow in the dark. “You don’t mean that.”_

_“I don’t mean that,” he echoed, regret lacing his words. “But … Melinda …”_

_It was her turn to sigh and drop a kiss onto his face, slowly covering his mouth to silence his words. She didn’t want hear them, she didn’t want this to end. She wanted this summer and this road trip to continue on endlessly, but like the first cold nights that interrupted their slumber, Phil’s words couldn’t be ignored. They had differences, major differences, the sort that don’t really come to the fore until you really begin to know a person. And while she had always liked the Phil she knew at the Academy, it was only until they had run away together that she had really begun to know what kind of person Phillip Coulson really was._

_He was everything she’d liked about him from the beginning. He was hard working, soft spoken and kind, intelligent and funny, strong without being hard. But now she knew the man behind that. She knew he feared close relationships, that he saw family as a weakness. She saw that he craved intimacy but also rejected any situation that might make him emotionally compromised. He was a good man, through and through, but he just wasn’t brave in the way that she needed. And they both knew it. They were such a cliche, in the end — the straight-and-narrow boy with the wild-spirited girl — but they were more than concepts and this was not a movie._

_She’d known halfway into this vacation that he would let her go. He was the sort of person who would fight for anything except a relationship. He’d let her go like the nobel man he was and she would … she would survive._

_But just now, in this hotel room, for this one night, he was hers. And she was sick of words for now._

 

* * *

 

 

_“So, I hope you fully appreciate this gravity of the situation, Agent May.”_

_Melinda looked up, somewhat stunned, from the incredible report she’d just read. Across the desk from her Director Fury watched her every movement with his one unblinking eye and just to her side Maria Hill sat still as a statue. May looked back down at this unbelievable document in her hands, mouth opening and closing in shock._

_“This … this can’t be real,” she finally said, her voice faint._

_“You’re in shock, so I’ll let that slide,” replied Fury drily. “But I’ll also take it that you are up to speed.”_

_“But you’re talking about resurrection,” she said, almost stumbling over the word. “This can’t … Coulson is dead.”_

_“Not anymore,” said Hill. “Coulson lives.” May shot her a look, her fingers unknowingly gripping tightly on the file, and while Hill calmed stared back at her she could see by her ridged spine and stone like features that Maria Hill was just as unnerved by this entire situation as she was. They’d brought someone back from the dead. If it was anyone else, May would’ve been quite happy to track this abomination down and put a bullet in their head, but it wasn’t anyone else. It was Phil._

_May closed the folder, her head shaking in disbelief as she formed her next question. “Why are you telling me all this?”_

_“Coulson’s recovery was sketchy at best,” said Fury, elbows on the desk, hands loosely clasped. “The things he went through are as close to impossible as the world has ever seen, and so far he is the only one to have survived a complete fatality reversal. And as he has no idea what happened to him he can’t be trusted to monitor himself. As far as he knows, he’s just spent four amazing weeks at a beautiful island retreat, when in reality he’s been either kept in a medical coma or has been raving, demanding that we just let him die.”_

_May closed her eyes against the information and with a throat that felt like dust asked the question that needed answering. “And are you sure we shouldn’t have? Let him die? Let nature take its course?” She opened her eyes to see Fury staring at her, impassive as ever. “You played God with his life. You cut him open and played with his mind, and now you’re asking me to be an accomplice in all this.”_

_“I’m asking you to watch over him,” countered Fury._

_“Watch for what?” she asked suspiciously._

_“For signs of deterioration,” said Hill. “Mental or physical failures that would indicate that project T.A.H.I.T.I. isn’t working anymore.”_

_May mouth tightened. “And if that happens?”_

_Fury tilted his head slightly to one side, as if the answer was obvious. “Then you put him down.”_

_May nodded, then dipped her chin so she was looking at the cover of the folder that was sitting in her lap. Out the corner of her eye she was acutely aware that Hill was watching her closely. When she made no move to answer Fury continued._

_“As we speak he’s back in Washington, back in his apartment, unpacking his bags from his supposed holiday,” said Fury, leaning back. “In three days he’s going to report in as usual, at which time I will call him to this office and reveal that I have assigned him a mobile unit, a Bus under his command and a team of his own choosing. A team that will, in actual fact, be designed to around his recovery. If you choose to take on this mission, you will need to evaluate what will be needed for this unit, and from there I’ll give him the parameters to follow.”_

_May looked up. “And how do you know he’ll even want me on his team?”_

_Fury gave no answer, made no movement, and yet May still felt as though everything that was hidden inside her was out and on display in front of him. Even Hill gave a soft ‘humph’, something that May decided to pretend she didn’t hear. She half shrugged one shoulder._

_“Okay then,” she continued. “But how do I know he’s still the same Coulson? How do I know that he hasn’t been changed by what’s happened to him?”_

_“Call him,” said Fury, and May started. “Call him and ask him how his time away was.”_

_For a few moments she did nothing, just breathed heavily and stared at Fury as she tried to figure out if this was some kind of test. Then, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cell, quickly finding and pressing down on the number she had, for the past month, thought she would never dial again. She kept her gaze forward and slightly above Fury’s eye-line as she counted the rings until a painfully familiar voice answered._

_“May?”_

_All the air in her lungs escaped her in a moment and at first she couldn’t answer. “How … how are you?” she finally stammered out._

_“Jet lagged, but also hyped up,” he answered, and with the sounds of things being moved about in the background May could easily imagine him unpacking his bags and neatly storing everything back in his well ordered apartment. “The place they sent me to recover was amazing, but for the last week of it I’ve been crawling up the walls. Or palm trees, really. Can’t wait to get back to work.”_

_As he prattled on happily May had covered her mouth with one hand, tears sitting unwelcome in her eyes. She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand it. He was dead. He was alive. Once he’d finished she dropped her hand and managed to say, “Sounds like the rest has done you well.”_

_“I feel incredible,” he said, and she could almost see his smile. “Oh, and thanks for all the messages you sent while I was there. They meant a lot to me.”_

_May felt the room swim around her. They’d implanted memories of messages she’d never sent. He fully, absolutely believed that he’d been on a tropical retreat, yet three weeks ago she’d attended his funeral. “I’m glad,” she managed to get out. “I … I’ve missed you. A lot.”_

_There was a small pause on the other end and for a moment she was terrified that she’d over-stepped their boundaries. Then she heard him softly say, “I’ve missed you too, Melinda. I’ll see you soon, okay? We can catch up.”_

Catch up? _Those words didn’t sound exactly like Coulson … or rather, they sounded like Coulson maybe fifteen years ago. So he was different, but not so much from the operation, but from his near death (actual death?) experience. He was different in ways that neither Fury nor Hill could really appreciate … and suddenly her mind was made up. “I’d like that,” she said, one finger now pressing into her temple. “See you then.”_

_They hung up and she stared straight at Fury, hard and even._

_“I’ll do it.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Please stop pacing Fitz, you know how I hate it when you pace,” said Simmons, her hair in disarray, hands now gripping onto the side of the tray where May was laying.

Fitz froze where he was near the door, and stared down at his legs as of surprised that they were moving at all. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, didn’t know I was doing that.” He ran his hands across his skull and blew out a sigh. “God, it’s been an hour!” he said under his breath.

“I know,” said Simmons, her voice small.

Fitz looked down at May’s withering form. For the entire of the hour she hadn’t once stopped moving, hadn’t gone longer than a minute without a moan of pain escaping her lips. She was completely insensible to everything around her and her hair was now damp with sweat. “How much longer can she take this?”

“Her vitals are holding up, barely,” said Simmons, who was once again escaping into the role as doctor in an attempt to distance herself from the horrors she was facing. “She’s becoming dangerously dehydrated and her heart can’t take this sort of strain much longer — particularly considering she’s only recently come out of a coma. If she doesn’t come back to us naturally in the next ten minutes, we’re going to have to turn the machine off and bring her back ourselves, the effects of which …”

Fitz stared at her. “What will that do?”

Simmons shook her head sadly. “I have no idea. I … it’s becoming more and more likely that, no matter what we do, this _will_ kill her.”

Fitz gave a strangled noise and, linking his hands across the back of his head, turned away from the sight of May, strapped down and in such terrible pain. He walked as far away as he could get from the machine, right to the door — then paused. On the other side of the room Simmons saw his back go stiff.

“What is it?” she asked, but he quickly held up his hand in a ‘shush’ motion before creeping right up to the entrance. He leaned right up next to the door —

— then jumped back a few feet as a thunderous thumping sounded against the timber. Three violent bangs were quickly followed by Mack’s booming voice.

“Fitz! Simmons! May! You three better not be doing what I think you’re doing!”

“We’re not doing anything!” Fitz answered immediately, realising only too late as Simmons waved her hands behind him that this was absolutely the wrong thing to do.

“Well, at least now I know at least one of you is in there,” said Mack, frustration, worry and anger all very clear in his voice. “What the hell are you thinking, Turbo? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing in there! I know Coulson was stupid enough to go in that M.R.I. from hell and I’m pretty sure May’s cut of the same stubborn material that he is, now open up!”

Fitz looked desperately at Simmons, who shook her head fiercely, her small frame now hovering over May’s prone body as if she could protect her from someone Mack’s size.

“Can’t do that Mack!” said Fitz, his face twisted in regret.

“Fitz!” yelled Mack. “Don’t make me break this door down because you damn well know I can and will break this door down! _Open up_!”

“Yes, and you and I both know that, like everything else on base, it’s not so easy to get through a S.H.I.E.L.D. door,” retorted Fitz. “I mean … it’s in our damn name! You could blow it up, but I know you won’t, you don’t want to hurt us. And that means cutting through, which will take time.”

“Don’t do this, Fitz!” pleaded Mack. “You’re right, I don’t want to hurt you, but I also don’t want anyone on this base hurting themselves! Please, just open the door!”

Fitz hesitated a moment, his palm pressed hard against the surface of the door. “Sorry, Mack. You do what you’ve got to to, and I’ll do the same.” With a heavy heart he turned away, to find Jemma standing right beside him, her face a picture of sympathy. Wordlessly he folded himself into her arms and she held him tight, one hand carding through his hair.

“I’m so sorry, Leo,” she whispered. He nodded glumly and propped his chin on her shoulder.

“We have ten minutes until he breaks through.”

Jemma tightened her hold on him. “And May has ten minutes before her heart gives out.”

 

* * *

 

 

Oh God, it’s the girl, _she realised, her heart nearly stopping in her chest. I_ t’s been the girl all along!

_This was wrong. Everything was wrong. This was supposed to be a simple meet-and-greet, but when things had become complicated by a local gang and their men had been taken hostage, Melinda had decided to go into the warehouse alone and get them out. She’d done this kind of thing before, she was a specialist at it. Get in, quick and quiet, free the hostages, take out the enemy. But this was wrong. There was something else at play, something beyond her training, beyond any sane person’s reasoning. Everything about her ached and she was sure her ankle was broken. She tasted blood and dust and the world spun around her as she crawled backwards, trying to stay out of reach of the little girl she had thought she was rescuing._

_Her heart beat fit to burst as she watch the tiny slip of a child smoothly dart her way around the fully grown men she had under her control. Katya stared Melinda straight in the eye and then raised her hand, causing one of them men to collapse on the spot, not a sigh or a moan escaping his mouth. Melinda stared at where he lay on the ground, her eyes wide with fear. He was no long breathing, there was no rise and fall of his chest._ She killed him, _her brain noted numbly._ She killed him without even touching him! How … how …?

_“You killed mother,” Katya’s voice did not sound like that of a child’s and Melinda felt another wave of fear crash over her. “And now there’s so much pain.” With a flick of her hands two more men fell to the ground, dead. Melinda’s breath came sharp and fast, her chest hurt. “I like all their pain … I’m scared. I want to leave.” Melinda could feel a hysterical scream bubbling up deep within her as Katya switched from terrifying psychopath to terrified child in a heartbeat. “Please … take my hand …”_

Don’t touch her! _A voice within her screamed._ Touch her and you’re dead! _Melinda stared as Katya advanced, the tiny girl’s hand like a claw, the lumbering, mind controlled men staring blindly behind her. With another dismissive flick a whole host of men dropped to the ground, their hearts stopped in an instant. But it was her eyes that frightened Melinda the most. Katya’s oh-so young eyes. She knew what she was doing. She knew she was killing people and she … she enjoyed it. Katya tilted her head to the side and Melinda followed her line of vision, almost throwing up when she saw the men from her unit roll into the room, eyes blank, all of them under Katya’s control._

_“No!” cried Melinda. “Not them! Let them go!” Katya slowly turned back to her, her little face a mask. “We can fix you! We can help! Just … don’t.” Melinda continued to shuffle backward, knowing that her time was running out, knowing that she was all alone. Coulson, where are you? she thought desperately. But she knew he wouldn’t enter the building without her command. She was alone in this._

_Katya smiled, a grotesque mask. “Take me hand. Give me your pain. I need a new mother.”_

Mother. Oh God. _Katya’s mother was monster, and now she wanted Melinda to fill that spot. A mother was just a role in this girl’s life, someone who would look after her, a position that could be filled by anyone._

_“Let me take your pain!” she hissed the last words in frustration as Melinda continued to avoid her touch._

_And just at that moment Melinda felt her fingers graze against something cool and metallic._

_She froze, slowly exploring this object behind her, but she already knew what it was. Her hand twisted and gripped on the gun and suddenly it was as though she could see everything set out so clearly in front of her. She had a weapon. Katya was only feet in front of her. There was no way she could miss._

No! No, you can’t! She’s just a child, you can’t! _This though ran quick through her mind, but as Melinda’s eyes glanced to the side, and she saw all those men being held hostage … all those men with families and loved ones and children of their own … she found that she could easily ignore this voice. Slowly it became softer and softer, a faint wailing from the person she used to be. And in an instant she knew. She could do this. She could be the monster in this story. But still, she tried not to._

 _“Stop,” whispered Melinda, her chin trembling._ Don’t make me do this, _she begged silently. “Don’t — just … put your hand down … and stop.” But she didn’t. And Melinda already knew, she wouldn’t. Just behind her she spun the gun around, gripped it tightly, and lied. “Everything’s going to be alright.”_

_It was almost as if Katya knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. The little girl frowned, confused, and without thinking, without hesitating, Melinda whipped this gun around, aimed the muzzle right at the child’s heart, and pulled the trigger._

_Later, she never recalled the sound of the shot. She only ever say Katya’s face. Her eyes widen and a look of pure shock washed across her features, a hole exploding in her small chest as the bullet tore right through her tiny body, blood blossoming wet and hot on her shirt. She only had a second to stare Melinda right in the eye, but it was a moment that Melinda would never — could never — forget._

What’s happening?

Why did you do that?

Why did you hurt me?

Why …?

Why …?

_She was dead before she hit the ground._

_Dimly, Melinda was aware that the other men had collapsed to the ground, and the logical part of her wondered if her plan had failed. If, by killing Katya, she’d somehow sealed their deaths, too. But she heard a faint moan as Agent Hart rolled over and she knew that they were alive. They’d been saved. She’d made the right call._

_She crawled over to where Katya lay on her back in the dust, her eyes wide and sightless as they stared up at the ceiling. She still looked ever so slightly shocked and Melinda realised that for someone so young, death would never have been a thing she would have ever thought of. Death wasn’t something that little girls worried about. Without hesitation she reach over and gently brushed some wayward strands of hair away from the girl’s face, before carefully shutting her eyes and pulling her into her arms. She was so small and weightless, and Melinda numbly wondered if all children were this light or if something had been lost when her life had been extinguished, something that gave her more gravity on this earthly plane._

I’m sorry, _she thought, and never before had those words felt so hollow, so pointless, so utterly incapable of explaining how remorseful she was._ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

_And that little voice that she’d ignore earlier was back and chanting ever so softly in the back of her mind …_

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, here we go,” said Fitz, his voice heavy with acceptance.

For the last few minutes he and Simmons had been sitting together at the far end of the room, just by May’s side, staring at the door as it slowly creaked and smoked around the edges. They’d spent the last ten minutes in silence as May groaned in agony by their side and Mack continued to plead with them to open up as he also tried to break in. Also, the machine had changed its noise and instead of a soft, constant hum it had now escalated to a high pitched whirr that nearly shook the tablet with the effort it was going through to continue cycling. Fitz had checked it over and had concluded that this was supposed to be happening, but whether this was a good or bad sign, he couldn’t tell.

As they watched the door gave a final, drawn out screech as it was finally torn from its hinges and flung outwards, a smoking hole now standing in its place. FitzSimmons rose to their feet, hands held tightly, but before they could so much as take a step forward a whole host of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents entered the room and grabbed them roughly, tearing them apart and swinging them onto the floor.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” bellowed Mack over the noise of the machine, as he followed quickly burst into the room. “Get off them, right now!” 

“Thanks Mack,” said Fitz softly as he and Simmons straightened up, but in an instant Mack rounded on him.

“Oh, don’t you thank me!” he growled, pointing a finger angrily. “This wouldn’t have happened at all if you had just opened the damn door when I told you to!”

“We couldn’t!” exclaimed Simmons. “We knew you’d stop the process and we’d promised May to do everything in our power —”

“ — to turn her mind to jelly?” he asked. “Because that’s all that machine will do!”

“But it was her best shot at being able to go back to who she was!” said Fitz, his voice fighting with the noise of the machine.

“It was stupid and foolish, is what it was!”

Simmons rolled her eyes tiredly, and then tried to push past Mack. “At any rate, I need to check her vitals.”

Mack pushed back. “No. You’re going to turn off this damn machine before it does any more damage!”

“Turning off the machine could do more damage than any of us know!” she argued, her voice rising.

“You’ve already done all the damage you possibly could when you decided to help May with this mad —!”

Mack’s voice cut off as his eyes widened in surprise, and it was clear what had happened to stop him mid-speech. Slowly he swung his head around to look down at where May way laying in the now totally silent machine. In the course of a second the machine had suddenly switched off, stopping dead as though the power had been pulled, and now it was sitting still and quiet, lights gone and monitor dead.

May was now very still.

“Oh no,” breathed Simmons, and this time when she pushed past Mack he just let her go.

“Is she okay?” gasped Fitz, who was instantly at her other side.

Simmons quickly checked her pulse and pealed back her eyelids, looking for any sort of reaction. “I … I don’t know. I … oh, God …”

“We need med-vac down here immediately,” order Mack to one of the men standing watch, who quickly nodded and ran from the room. “Now do you see what kind of damage you’ve cause?”

“Not now, Mack,” said Fitz, sounding angrier than he could remember.

“Well, it’s like I said —”

“Look, just leave her alone!”

“Please, just let me concentrate!”

“Quiet.”

That one word, spoken so softly, stunned them all into silence. Slowly, the three of them looked down to see Melinda May staring up at them, her face pale, worn and streaked with sweat, but her eyes bright and knowing. It only took one look for them all to know that this was no longer the frightened, confused woman they’d been sheltering for the last few weeks. Slowly, gingerly, she pulled her head out of the machine and rose into a sitting position, swaying ever so slightly but with her teeth set and her body almost trembling with pent up energy. She glanced around the room, taking everything in with one sweep, before her gaze crossed Mack, Fitz, and finally landed on Simmons.

Simmons swallowed and with a trembling voice asked, “How … how do you feel?”

“Awful,” said May without hesitation.

Simmons blinked. “Is … is that all?”

For the first time May’s face relaxed somewhat and Simmons just knew. Still, it felt amazing to hear what she said next.

“You can all stop looking at me like that,” said May, addressing the room. “It worked. I’m back.” She then looked directly at Mack. “And I'm going to need a plane.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one was knocked out in a day for Juchi ... Happy Birthday!!! I hope you enjoy this!!
> 
> And for everyone else, thank you so much for coming on this ride with me ... we now enter, the final act, in three parts ...


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning for blood and nasty, creepy doctor stuff ...

_He answered on the third ring, a wry smile already growing as he leaned back into his sofa and tried his best to use a serious tone. “Agent May.”_

_“Oh, ‘agent’ is it?” came the lighthearted response, and his smile became full blown. “Oh boy, that sounds like I’m in definite trouble, then.”_

_“Well, not definite,” shrugged Phil, stretching out his legs and putting aside his cope of ‘Spanish for Beginners’. “But you did go AWOL three days before your actual leave was supposed to start. That doesn’t look good.”_

_“Trust me, I don’t look like I care,” was her flippant answer._

_“You might care when you see what Fury’s got waiting for you when you get back.”_

_“I’ll deal with it when I have to.”_

_“So you’re not looking for a favour?”_

_“Not on this. Don’t want to waste my favours on something as small as this.”_

_“And that one sentence is going to give me sleepless nights. Well, if not that, then why are you phoning in?”_

_There was a small pause and suddenly Phil felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in a very unpleasant way. “Because I thought you should know why I took those extra three days,” she said softly, suddenly serious. “Andrew and I eloped. We’d already planned our holiday to Greece a while back, but then … we just decided that we should turn the holiday into a honeymoon.”_

_Phil had gone very still as his brain struggled to process this information. “This … this is sudden.”_

_“I know it seems that way, but honestly it doesn’t feel like it to us,” said Melinda, and he could hear a trace of awe in her voice. As if she were surprised that she could truly be this happy. “It took a bit of office acrobatics to get everything together at the last moment which is why I went AWOL, but Phil, right now I’m just too happy to give a damn about anything!” She finished off with a little laugh and Phil’s smile returned despite himself. “The whole thing’s been like some wonderful dream … but, now that I’m back everything’s becoming a little more realistic again.”_

_Phil raised his eyebrows. “Oh. You’re at your parents.”_

_“Yeah,” she said. “And it’s made me realise what coming back to work might mean.”_

_Phil shrugged. “I don’t think much will change work-wise. You’re still Melinda … Garner?”_

_“I kept my name.”_

_“Right. Of course. Just checking.”_

_“Hm …”_

_“Still,” he said cheerfully, in a strange attempt to throw some of this odd new weight off his shoulders. “Melinda Garner. Does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”_

_“Phil …”_

_“And then there’s going to be all the business of changing your badge and ID number …”_

_“Phil!” she laughed again and with a stab he realised that he hadn’t really heard Melinda laugh out loud for a while now. It wasn’t that she was morose in any way, but it was just that … that being with Andrew was really letting her be her best and happiest self. Again he felt something strange, like a weight on his shoulders or his chest, like a realisation coming too late._

_“Well, you’ll be back at the time you said, right?” he asked, trying his best to ignore this feeling._

_“Yes, yes, no more AWOL for me, though … what exactly does Fury have planned?”_

_“It’s a surprise.”_

_She groaned. “You’re going to enjoy this a little too much, I think.”_

_“I would never!” he said in a way that firmly implied to opposite, and she laughed once more. “Oh, and Melinda?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_He smiled softly, sadly. “Congratulations.”_

_“Thanks Phil,” she said sincerely, and the two of them hung up._

_Phil was unsure of exactly how much time passed as he sat on his couch and mulled over what had just happened. The afternoon sun swum around him in a rich, golden colour before slowly fading out and becoming pale and thin, and it was only then that he finally rose and wandered into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Melinda May, married. This was the one thought that rolled around his head as he chopped and boiled. She seemed so happy, and he was happy for her, he truly was. Then why did he feel so …_

_He sprinkled some herbs onto his steak and decided not to follow that train of thought. He was good. They were good. Sure, they were friends, but nothing more than that. Not for a long time._

_She was happy._

_He was happy for her._

_And that was that._

_He ate dinner alone._

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s eyes popped open as fire ran through his veins, his hands jerking reflexively against the cuffs as he gasped for breath. Pain. Pain was all he knew. It felt like there was an acid eating him from the inside out, a creature of claws and teeth scratching at his guts, spiders in his skull. He thought his skin was breaking, bleeding, cracking apart like clay as his life-force dripped out of him. His heart was going to burst. His heart was going to stop. Just as he thought he’d go insane from the agony everything suddenly stopped.

There was a ringing silence and it was only then that Phil realised that he’d been screaming. The pain had just vanished, almost as if it had never existed, and the relief he felt was enough to make him cry. Far above him he heard voices discussing something that seemed terribly important and despite everything he struggled to hear and understand exactly what was happening to him.

“… remarkable that he’s still breathing at this point.”

“Well, we’re not trying to kill him, just test his limits.”

“Any normal person would’ve passed out from the toxin at this point.”

“I think he did, for a bit.”

“But he was still screaming …”

“Ah, that’s the beauty of the toxin. It’s so potent that the subjects still feel the pain enough to continue screaming, even while unconscious.”

Even as he battled the black dots swimming across his vision, Phil managed to get a look at the two figures hovering just above him. One was Grant Ward — no surprise there — but the other was someone of a bit more interest. Someone he’d previously only ever seen in photographs.

Doctor Arthur Carrington was a short, slightly built man with a bald head, thin lips, and wide, bulbous eyes that were such a light shade of blue they seemed little more than white orbs with a single black dot in the middle. He had a light, wispy way of speaking and a somewhat mangled accent, as if someone had tried to ‘correct’ his natural South African accent with more cultured English tones. He was leaning against the gurney, his face tilted to one side as he viewed Phil with a detached wonder, and Phil suddenly got the uncomfortable feeling that this was exactly how a bug felt just before a collector drove a needle through it. When he realised that Phil was watching them Carrington smiled down at him, unblinking, but when he spoke he addressed only Ward.

“Well, how marvellous! See how he not only regains his senses, but he is already recovering from the toxin at a rate that is most definitely not human. And yet, is it assured that his DNA is completely normal?”

Ward nodded, arms folded. “Dull as dishwater, genetically speaking, but that alien serum does give him a bit of an edge.”

“Incredible! Yet, there is no more of this wonderful drug left?”

“None,” said Ward without hesitation. “It was all buried under a collapsed mountain. Coulson was the only one who received it.”

It took everything in Phil’s will power not to roll his eyes. It was clear that Ward thought he was doing Skye some sort of favour, perhaps his delusions even went as far as to see himself as her protector, but Phil knew that given the chance Skye wouldn’t hesitate to drop Ward into the deepest, darkest hole she could find and just leave him there to rot. There was a ruthless righteousness to Skye, something that Phil had recognised from the first day they’d met, and for all his posturing Ward had yet to see exactly how much fury a woman betrayed could wield.

“That’s a shame,” sighed Carrington. “That such a miraculous drug should be lost and wasted in the veins of such an ordinary man, who stands for such an ordinary cause.” There was the soft, ominous sound of metal scrapping against metal and Phil’s eye’s widened as a scalpel came into his line of vision, held delicately between two of Carrington’s pale fingers. For the first time Carrington addressed Phil directly. “You see, Mr Coulson, I understand you. I have spent my years in tedium working along side men like you, trapped within the confines of S.H.I.E.L.D. where advancement was always stifled by burdensome philosophies. Questions of morals seemed so unimportant in an agency dedicated to espionage and subterfuge, and yet my work was constantly hampered by those less intelligent crying out that my methods were immoral, wrong. I am not immoral, Mr Coulson. I am simply uninterested in anything beyond my work.”

Without warning he drove the scalpel into the tender skin across Phil’s chest and cut a long line down his sternum. It was all Phil could do not to cry out.

“I have a thirst for knowledge that S.H.I.E.L.D. could not — would not — sate. And HYRDA, while more open to my methods, still would not allow me the freedom to continue with my own experiments.” He continued to cut a thin line down past the sensitive skin just below Phil’s ribcage and in a flash of sickening horror Phil realised he was cutting a V incision. Carrington was performing a vivisection. “I want to know how things work, I’ve always wanted to know how things work … and if I have to break a thing to discover what exactly makes it tick, then so be it.”

Phil closed his eyes, pressed his head into his pillow, and screamed.

 

* * *

 

 

“We’ve just hit Hour Fifteen,” said Hunter dully.

Bobbi’s hands tightened around the Bus’ controls. “I know that,” she said tightly. “Is there anything else you can add to that, or do you just want to show off your impressive counting skills some more?”

She waited for a cutting remark, a quick rejoinder that she could again bounce off in a verbal spar, but all she got was a soft sigh. After a few moments she glanced out the corner of her eye to see Hunter hunched over in the co-pilot’s seat, his gaze fixed and unseeing on the window, and suddenly she felt rather childish. They had a pattern, the two of them, a battle of wits that had started the moment they met each other and had slowly progressed from playful banter to more bitter jabs, and had finally disintegrated into hurtful, spiteful arguments where neither side wanted to truly admit that those remarks really cut deeper than either one showed. The separation had done the two of them good, though, but it was times like this under great stress that Bobbi had to remind herself that Hunter was not her emotional punching bag, nor should he have to endure the blunt end of her fear and frustration in the face of events that were outside both of their control.

“I’m sorry, Lance,” she said quietly, and was somewhat shamed when he straightened in his seat and shot her a questioning look, as if surprised at her apology.

“What? No, no Bob. I get it, you’re worried. We both are.”

“No need for me to be rude, though.”

Hunter let off a quick bout of laughter at this, and even Bobbi felt her lips twitch in response. “You call that rude? Well, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve mellowed since I’ve last seen you.” Bobbi turned her attention away from the controls for a moment to shoot Hunter a saucy grin, but gave no answer. When he saw she wasn’t going to rise to his bait he dropped his head onto the back of the chair and groaned. “Aw, that was when you’re supposed to say something like …” With a terrible American accent. “ ‘Well, without you out my life, Hunter, you incredible specimen of mankind, I have completely mellowed out due to an utter lack of mental stimuli.’ ”

Bobbi laughed out loud. “Oh my God, you really do sound like a douche!”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Hunter spoke again.

“You worry, Bob, because that’s just the kind of good person you are. And unfortunately, you and I both know exactly how bad it’s going to get.”

Bobbi pressed her lips together. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “I really don’t know. But I’m not one to live in hope, either.”

Deeper in the belly of the Bus, Skye and Trip poured over any and all intel that might lead them to Carrington’s base of operations. So far, nothing had panned out.

“God, this is impossible. This is like Raina all over again,” muttered Skye, scrubbing her hand across her face.

“And from what I was told, you totally kicked arse and pulled Coulson out of the fire with that one,” said Trip evenly. “So don’t start doubting yourself just yet.”

Skye propped her elbows on the table and tilted her head towards Trip. “How are you always so calm?”

“Oh girl, you have no idea what’s going on in my head right now,” he replied as he brought up some new schematics to the screen. “I’m not calm, I’m contained.”

Skye reached out to grasp his hand. “Well, whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here.”

Trip had just enough time to smile back when suddenly a shrill tone cut through the air and Bobbi’s terse voice sounded over the intercom. “Skye, Trip, get to the cockpit. Now.”

There was no hesitation. Within seconds the two of them were now crammed into the cockpit with Hunter and Bobbi, both of whom were sitting bolt stiff in their chair and simultaneously turned wide eyes to the new arrivals. Skye frowned.

“What is it? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 _“Skye?”_ A new voice crackled over the radio and for a split second Skye didn’t even recognise who it was. _“Trip? It’s me.”_

Skye felt her legs go weak and was sure that she would’ve dropped to the floor if Trip hadn’t grabbed at her elbow to steady her. “May?” she asked, incredulous. “What … what the hell …?”

_“Long story short … I went into the memory machine, and it fixed me. I’m me again, me with my memories.”_

“What?!” burst out Skye as Hunter let out a low whistle and Trip gave a whispered, “ _Damn_.”

_“That doesn’t matter. What matter is that I know where they’ve taken Coulson.”_

Skye’s mouth was hanging open, a million and one things rushing through her mind at such incredible speed that she couldn’t latch onto a single one. Thankfully, Bobbi was there to take charge.

“How could you possibly know that?” she demanded. “And how do we know your intel is …” She hesitated before ploughing on. “Listen, May, you suffered sever memory loss, and I don’t know exactly what that machine does, or did to you, but how can we possibly —?”

 _“No, no, she’s fine!”_ A new voice pipped up over the comm and Bobbi blinked, taken aback.

“ _Simmons_? You did this?”

 _“And me,”_ added Fitz, although Skye already knew that he would’ve had to have been involved as well.

“What the hell happens at that place when there’s no-one in charge?” demanded Hunter.

“Look, who cares?” said Skye before talking to the radio. “May? Is that really you?”

There was a pause before a stern, _“Yes, absolutely. I already said that once,”_ was heard, and somehow that more than anything convinced those in the Bus that this was really happening.

“Okay then,” said Bobbi, an accepting frown still sitting on her face. “You said you know where they’ve taken Coulson? Because at this point we are all out of leads.”

 _“He hasn’t moved,”_ said May, and Skye started to feel a creeping feeling deep in her gut. _“When the warehouse exploded … look, I haven’t got time to explain everything, but his base wasn’t the warehouse — it’s a bunker underneath the warehouse. The explosion was just a coverup and Carrington’s been operating from exactly the same spot this whole time, but without any surveillance from S.H.I.E.L.D.”_

“Oh God …” whispered Skye.

“We’re at least an hour out from there,” said Bobbi, immediately changing course.

 _“I know,”_ said May. _“That’s why I’ve got the Quinjet, along with Mack, Fitzsimmons and a new team, and we’re heading there right now. We’re about twenty minutes out.”_

“May, I can’t approve this,” said Bobbi, a touch of desperation in her voice. “You’ve been through some unbelievable trauma! You’re still recovering! I don’t think you’re quite —”

_“We’re already in the air.”_

Bobbi snapped her mouth shut, although she looked more than a little pissed. “There’s no talking to you about this, is there?”

 _“There’s nothing to talk about,”_ said May. _“Just concentrate on getting there as quickly as possible.”_

And with that she switched off communication.

For a few long moments not a sound was made in the cockpit, but no-one was surprised when Hunter spoke first.

“Did that really just happen?” he demanded. “Did I really just hear all that correctly?”

Trip was just shaking his head. “You know, when you hear all those stories about Melinda May you just think, ‘Nah, no way they’re all true.’ But you know what? I’m guessing they’re all true.”

Skye was already hanging over Bobbi’s seat. “Is there any way that we can get there faster than an hour?”

Bobbi switched over a few controls and a deep, strained whine could be heard reverberating throughout the entire Bus as they picked up speed. “You just watch me.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, I think that all went quite nicely, really,” said Fitz hopefully from where he stood in the bay of the Quinjet, surrounded by a tactical team that where all suiting up.

“Yes, it’s good that everyone’s been brought up to speed now,” agreed Simmons, her head bobbing.

Mack, however, just stared at the two of them. “You’re all insane.”

Melinda just ignored them and focused on flying the jet. And tried with all her might to stop the trembling in her fingers as they gripped the controls.

She had been so long out of her own head, she now felt like a stranger in her own skull, but unlike the previous weeks where she had been a blank slate with nothing but emotions and the barest wisp of memory to guide her, she was now too full. She remembered everything … she remembered too much. Her entire life had been shoved back into her head without rhyme or reason, everything she’d even done or felt or saw or knew was now sloshing around inside her to the point where she felt like she was going to be sick. To where she almost craved her former blank state.

She wasn’t well. But she had to be. She could pretend to be. She would focus on the tasks at hand, doing everything step by step, bit by bit until …

…

_“Take off your shirt.”_

_Phil blinked once, and his eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”_

_“Your shirt,” she repeated, her voice gentle but the blood rushing through her pounding like a drum. “Unbutton it.”_

_She saw the moment it dawned on him what she wanted to see. She hadn’t asked him about it and he hadn’t offered her any information. In fact, this evening was the most he’d ever spoken of what had happened to him since his death. She had already known something was a little off, that there was something he was keeping to himself, but until he came to her she couldn’t bare asking Phil about his experiences, not when she had already invaded his privacy on this in such a horrible way. She had seen the photos of Phil laying dead and cold on a stark metal slab, a gaping wounded in the middle of his chest so painfully familiar to the wound she inflicted upon Katya. She had seen him dead. Now, she needed to see him alive._

_She took a few slow steps towards him, almost as if she were taking the decision out of his hands and this was now a forgone event. Acceptance settled on his face and without breaking eye contact he brushed aside his tie and, with one hand, popped open the buttons of his dress shirt._

_Melinda dropped her gaze as together they silently parted the soft fabric to reveal the long and jagged scar. She felt her heart jolt painfully as she looked down at it and her lips pressed together tightly as she fought for control. She wanted to fling her arms around him and never let him go, never let anything so evil ever touch him again._

_She looked up from his scar to his face and was heartbroken to see vulnerable he looked. He was still, unnaturally still, too frightened to move as if he were expecting something terrible reflected in her eyes as she looked upon his disfigurement, some sort of horror, disgust, revulsion._

_Without fear or pity she looked him right in the eyes. “Whether it was eight seconds or forty …”_ Or days _… “… you died. There’s no way you can go through a trauma like that and not come out of it changed.” She hesitated, loathed to even speak of Bahrain, but as he looked down at her with such sadness she felt that, with all the secrets and experiments and lies, she at least owed him this part of herself. She at least owed him honesty about how trauma had changed her. “You … you know how long it’s taken me to —”_

_“I know,” he said softly, cutting her off, saving her from going down that terrible dark path. Even now, even after everything, he would still do anything he could to ease the burden she felt and she was beyond grateful that he’d done his best to try and shelter her from things that were long over and now so deeply etched into her bones that she knew she’d never be rid of them. But she had come to terms with that. It seemed that Phil was still desperately trying to hold onto the man he was before Loki’s sceptre went though his heart._

_“The point of these things,” she continued, looking back down at his scar. “Is to remind ourselves that … there is no going back. There’s only moving forward.” She looked back up, her fingers moving deftly as she re-buttoned his shirt, returning him to his usual immaculate state. She smiled, ever so slightly, if only because in that moment he couldn’t. “You feel different, because you are different.”_

…

Melinda sucked in a huge gasp of air, her heart pounding and her head spinning. A quick glance around assured her that no-one had noticed anything amiss and as far as she could tell, only a few seconds had passed — seconds which, to her, had felt like an entire chuck of her life.

The flashbacks were still happening. She had known this only a few minutes after leaving the machine. They lasted only moments and no-one else had seemed to observe her staring off blankly into space. Right now, it was fine. This was something she could control, something she could hide. But logically she knew that out in the field, a few seconds of distraction could mean the difference between life and death.

But … they were the closest team to the site. Even at her best, she knew Bobbi would still be at least forty minutes out and there was an awful sense of dread in the pit of her stomach that was screaming at her that Coulson didn’t have forty minutes. So she would deal with this. She had to.

She had to get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, that sure was a long week between chapters, right ...? *high pitched awkward laughter*


	24. Chapter 24

From the air the whole area looked like a long abandoned war zone. The implosion that collapsed the warehouse had changed a massive, complex building into a jagged tangle of steel and concrete that jutted out of the earth like the broken bones of some hideous monster. Mack stared down with a mix of disgust and fascination through the cockpit window as May circled the Quinjet around the destruction to land in a small clearing nearby.

“You know, I spent days shifting through that wreckage, dodging fallen beams and praying that the structure would last just a little bit longer while we dug,” he commented, his head shaking slowly. “But that was all at ground level. Seeing it from above, seeing how much was destroyed …” He pressed his lips together grimly. “And all that for a distraction.”

“A distraction that worked,” said May, switching off the ignition and removing her headset. She then turned around in her seat and looked up at him quizzically. “What were you doing searching the wreckage?”

Mack stared down at her, his brows pulled together ever so slightly. “Looking for you,” he said slowly. She didn’t react, didn’t even blink, just took in this information calmly and then turned away again, but this non-reaction set alarm bells ringing Mack’s head. He didn’t care what the science twins said there was something still not entirely right with May and he knew it. Still, he thought he’d give her one last chance to come clean. “Are you sure you’re one-hundred percent ready to go on this because if you’re not —”

“This has already been discussed,” interrupted May.

“That’s not an answer,” replied Mack, his voice lowering and traces of anger now threading through it. “I don’t like the idea of going into enemy territory blind and I like the idea even less when I know I can’t rely on one of my team to have my back.”

This stung at something in her and she swiftly got to her feet. “I’ve got your back.”

Mack looked down at her steadily, taking in the deep black marks under her eyes, her drawn features, dirty hair pulled back in a ponytail. She did not look well. He sighed. “No. I don’t think you do.”

He turned his back on her and walked out of the cockpit, through the bay, down the ramp and out into the light of day. Fitz was waiting outside, tugging fitfully at the bullet-proof vest he’d been strapped into while Simmons stood nearby, looking far more comfortable with a pistol in her hand than Mack would’ve given her credit for. Both of their heads turned towards him with twin expression of concern on their faces.

“Where’s May?” Simmons asked.

Mack opened his mouth but before he could say anything a crisp, “Right here,” sounded from behind and May briskly strode past him to the five man tac-team that were waiting for her. Mack closed his mouth and ground his teeth but aside from Fitz, who gave him a questioning side-long glance, no-one else noticed. He said nothing.

Everyone gathered around May as she quickly explained the plan. “You’ve all been updated on the fact that Carrington’s base wasn’t the warehouse as first thought, but rather it’s a massive underground bunker that survived the initial explosion a few weeks ago,” she started, her voice level and clear. This still did not put Mack as ease. “We have no idea exactly how large the base is or how many people are down there, but it’s safe to assume that we are currently outmanned and outgunned.”

“But Bobbi and her team will be here soon,” pipped up Simmons. “Surely that will help?”

“Yes,” said May. “But only in the slightest way. So our objective is clear — we go in quietly, find and extract Coulson, and then finish what we started here.”

Fitz nodded in understanding. “You want us to blow the base up — again.”

“I want this place levelled,” said May, a touch of emotion coming into her voice for the first time.

Simmons looked slightly torn. “Shouldn’t we be at least try to salvage some of the equipment or research …?”

“No,” said May bluntly, and for once Mack found himself agreeing with her. “There’s nothing here worth salvaging. The biggest problem we’re going to have is finding Coulson in this labyrinth, so we’ll be entering at five separate places. Fitz?”

Fitz cleared his throat and came to the front, holding a little tablet flat so everyone could see the digitised map of where they were currently standing, with five bright red triangles marking entrances. “I scanned the surface as we came in and from what I could tell these five point are the places most likely to be some kind of vent. From above they seem like nothing, but infer-red shows excessive amounts of heat coming from these five spots.”

“It’s most likely ventilation and while it will be warm at first, it’s not hot enough to cause any great problems,” added Simmons.

“Fitz, I want you to send this information to Bobbi’s team. Once in, each group will install an explosive device that will only be detonated after everyone has cleared the site,” said May. She then turned to the tac-team. “Today, there is no such thing as acceptable loss. Understood?” As a group they nodded. They were all fairly young agents who were only a few years out of the Academy, bright eyed and nearly green agents that Coulson seemed to favour as he’d been rebuilding S.H.I.E..L.D, as they were both trained in the old ways and more open to some new methods that more seasoned agents found grating. These were the ones who’d survived the Hydra takeover and had managed to resist the lure of the private companies after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., and now they were readying themselves for a brave new world. Mack felt a sliver of ice run its way through his heart. He only hoped these new recruits would go on to make S.H.I.E.L.D. greater than its past, and not suddenly find their careers and their lives at an end here in this bunker.

May quickly paired the team off (Fitz and Simmons naturally together) and Mack was dismayed that she not only paired him with Agent Varens, but that she herself had decided to go in alone. A month ago he wouldn’t have thought twice about Agent May handling herself, but now he could warning shivers going up and down his spine at the idea that this woman was about to face a whole horde of Hydra agents alone. While the rest of the team started to pull away Mack dropped away from Varen’s questioning glance and sidled up to May.

“You’re mad if you think you’re going in there alone,” he said, his voice low. “Are you looking to get yourself killed?”

May looked up at him with tired but defiant eyes. “No. But you’re right. I’m … I’m not well.” This was drawn out from behind gritted teeth, but Mack still felt a wave of relief when he realised that at least she wasn’t completely in denial about her health. “But I can do this. I have to do this. But I won’t be responsible for anyone else in there, and I won’t have anyone risking themselves for me.”

Mack let out a long sigh and shook his head. “You know, if there’s one thing I never truly understood about you field agents, it’s this whole ‘lone wolf’ crap.” May’s eyes widened a fraction but before she could say anything Mack had turned to Varens and quickly said, “Agent? I’ll be going in with May. Are you good by yourself or would you prefer to team up with someone else?”

Agent Varens’ bit her lip as she considered her options before saying, “Well, I’d rather go with the scientists, really. I don’t know how much field work they’ve done.”

“And what, you want to babysit us?” asked Simmons indignantly as Fitz spluttered, but Mack felt a swell of relief in his chest knowing that the lab babies wouldn’t be inside a Hydra nest alone. And with the look he exchanged with Varens and back with May, it was clear that they would feel better if FitzSimmons had someone of more experience with them.

May nodded. “Good idea, Varens. We’ll be four groups, then,” she said softly, ignoring FitzSimmons’ protests before turning back to Mack and asking, “Why?”

“Because you need someone to have your back,” he said simply. “And I’ve got your back.”

 

* * *

 

 

The team split up and soon May and Mack were squeezing and shuffling their way down an exhaust vent. May lead, her smaller form slipping through and reaching the interior with much greater ease than Mack’s massive frame just behind her, and as she listened to his grunts and half muffled curses she couldn’t stop a tiny smirk from tugging at her lips, but once Mack had popped in an ungainly mess into the corridor next to her they were straight to business. Both withdrew their weapons and crept silently along the dark and seemingly deserted hallways, although distant thumps, clangs and voices served to remind both of them that this base was fully operational.

May touched at the comm in her ear. “Roll call, one.”

There was a small pause. Then, _“Roll call, two.”_

_“Roll call, three.”_

_“Roll call, four,”_ came Simmons clear tones last.

They were all in. Wordlessly they snuck deeper into the base, keeping radio contact at a minimum.

“Do you have any idea where they might be keeping Coulson?” Mack asked lowly.

May shook her head. “Skye tried to hack into their security cameras, but the whole thing is internally run.” She touched at her comm again. “Fitz?”

“Yes?”

“We’re going to need your team to someone get into the hardwire of this complex, and then send all data you get to Skye. We should be —”

 

 

_“This kinda hurts. Is it meant to hurt?”_

_Melinda rolled her eyes but managed to keep her position. She knew Phil wasn’t trying to sound petulant, but intent doesn’t always meet with outcome. It was late at night at the Playground, or rather, it was just coming up to the early morning light and the two of them had spread out some mats in Phil’s office, practicing yoga. Or, Melinda was practicing yoga and Phil was groaning and complaining._

_Out the corner of her eye she saw Phil topple downwards onto his back with a soft thump, and once he was there he made no attempt to get back up again. Melinda ignored him and continued to hold her position until the correct amount of time had passed, and she’d gracefully unravelled herself and stood up, hands on hips, looking down at Phil who was still lying prone on the ground, eyes closed. Funnily enough he now looked more relaxed than he did during the entire workout. With an utterly dry tone she asked, “How do you feel?”_

_“How do I look?” he shot back, eyes still closed._

_“Old,” she said coolly and his eyes finally opened, shinning with resentment._

_“Low blow,” he muttered before bringing his hands to his face, rubbing off the sweat and dust. “I forgot to ask … how’s Skye?”_

_“You could ask her yourself, you know,” she said._

_He kept his hands on his face and kept quiet. This was something else she’d been noticing recently; his unwillingness to look people in the eye anymore, at least when they were in private. He was avoiding the team. He was avoiding her. “I just want to know if there’s been any reaction,” he finally said, his voice flat and tired._

_Melinda felt a small pain in her heart. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this. “Skye’s fine,” she said gently. “As far as I can tell, there’s been no reaction whatsoever to the symbols. Well, aside from her frustration at being unable to find a match to them.”_

_Phil removed his hands. “She changed her hair.”_

_Melinda shrugged. “It’s because she’s changed as a person. Not everyone finds a style they like at twenty and sticks to it, Phil. Big changes in someone’s life are often followed by big changes to someone’s wardrobe. At least she didn’t get a tattoo.”_

_Phil snorted. “The single worst thing a spy can have,” he muttered. He then looked up at her and she knew right away that she wasn’t going to like this next part of the conversation. “May, we can’t keep doing this forever.”_

_“We can keep doing this for as long as we need to,” she objected firmly._

_“I think it’s time we talked about a —”_

_“No,” she said bluntly. “No. I know what you want to talk about but … look, this is only the forth time. We still don’t know if it’s permanent yet.”_

_Phil’s raised eyebrows spoke volumes into the lie she’d just said, but instead of calling her out on it, he just nodded. “Okay then. Okay. And honestly? I don’t think yoga’s my thing, but this laying on the ground is actually helping. It’s very nice down here. I think I’ll stay for a bit.” He closed his eyes again and heaved a sigh as if he was about to fall asleep. “But wake me up if I doze off, please?”_

_Melinda murmured her agreement, smiling slightly as she watched him, but as she looked out across his office her smile slowly slide from her face. As quietly as she could she walked over to the far side, where an entire wall was now dedicated to the insane carvings that Phil had spent hours scratching out. She raised a hand and softly ran her fingertips over the bizarre patterns, tiny specks of dust coming away as she did so. Phil had started having these attacks nearly two months ago, trancing out and carving the odd symbols into the wall. The first time it had happened on the base he’d woken her up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and dust, wrapped up in a calm exterior that did nothing to hide exactly how frightened he was about what was happening to him. Since then the two of them had developed a system; once he felt the need to carve become too much he would come back to base, lock them two of them in his office, zone out and scratch hundreds of intricate symbols into the wall while Melinda documented the whole thing._

_It was taking its toll. Phil was already under considerable strain as he tried his best to rebuild what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D., while at the same time avoiding both Hydra and government officials who wanted to crush whatever was left of the agency into dust and now an alien compulsion, something that was obviously brought on by whatever they did to resurrect him, was draining what little energy he had left. He’d looked so drawn and exhausted after this nights carving that Melinda had spontaneously offered to walk him through a quick round of tia chi or maybe yoga, just to bring his centre back and maybe set him off for a short, but deep sleep._

_Phil had brushed off the idea of tia chi, saying that it made him feel ‘lumpy and stupid’, though he had been rather interested in how yoga worked. Until he’d discovered that yoga just really wasn’t for him. Still, it seemed to serve it’s purpose because as Melinda walked back to the mats she returned to find Phil fast asleep. Without putting too much thought into what she was doing she grabbed a blanket and dropped it over him before setting an early alarm on his phone and leaving it by his head. That way, he could get some decent sleep and still be awake and back in his rooms before the rest of the base stumbled on their director passed out in his office._

_She walked out and straight to her own quarters, ignoring the gnawing need to go back, lay down on the mats with him, curl up at his side and just disappear into shared oblivion. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She was tired, and this was just an echo of a long burnt out emotion. She refused to read too much into it._

 

 

“May? Agent May?”

There was a strong arm on her shoulder as Melinda snapped back to the present, and she found Mack’s face just inches from her own, concern creasing a line between his brows.

 _“What’s going on?”_ came Simmons’ voice over the comms.

“Nothing, Simmons,” said Mack firmly, although his expression said otherwise. “Just had to keep quiet for a minute. It’s all good. As you were saying, Agent May.”

May blinked heavily, past and present swimming together, but she managed to get herself focused. “Right,” she said, her voice shaky. “Right. We’re starting in the outer most corridors and should sweep our way through the base. The moment one of us finds Coulson we grab him and run. Fitz? How’s the hardware hack going?”

_“Still a few minutes before it’ll be of any use. When’s everyone else getting here?”_

“At best they’re still twenty minutes out,” said May, doing her best to ignore Mack’s hard stare. “If things go well, we’ll be out before then.”

“And if things don’t?” asked Mack ominously.

She just stared up at him. “Then we’ll be glad for the backup.”

Mack touched at the comm in his ear, turning it off, and May did the same. “Okay May, what the hell was that?”

May groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “How long was I out for?”

“You weren’t out. The lights were on but no-one was home.”

“How long?”

Mack clenched his jaw. “A few seconds. At most.”

May looked him in the eye. “It’s my memories. They’re still flashing across my mind even after everything that happened in the machine.”

Mack looked aghast. “So your memories aren't fully back, then?”

“They are,” she insisted. “It’s just that … it’s like I’m just experiencing them for the first time and my brain is struggling to catch up with all the information.”

“So how do you know you can handle this mission?” he asked.

“I …” she stopped suddenly, every muscle taut as she suddenly saw two armed men appear just over Mack’s shoulder. Without thought she pushed herself off the wall and ran towards the men, both of whom were too stunned to see trespassers to do anything about it. In the space of ten seconds both men we laying unconscious at her feet, her ears ringing and her knuckles stinging and cracking from lack of use. Mack watched the whole thing with an open mouth.

“Okay then,” he said, straightening. “Okay. Looks like you do have my back after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bobbi’s team shot off the bus and into the open field just next to the rubble that used to be a warehouse. She glanced at Skye, who was gripping her pistol tightly and nearly quivering with pent up energy. It had taken all of Trip’s powers of reasoning to keep her from parachuting off the Bus and into hostile territory she was that eager to find Coulson.

“So how do we get in?” Skye asked immediately.

“Ventilation shafts,” answered Bobbi, double checking the specs Fitz had sent her before pointing out a nearly hidden piece of infrastructure. “Comms on guys and remember, we won’t be able to communicate with the others until we’re all below ground. Before they went dark Fitz said there was some kind of damping signal that was keeping everything internal, so Skye, they’re going to need you to help hack into their surveillance system to find Coulson.”

“Got it,” nodded Skye, her jaw clenched.

They quickly ran over to the shaft and pealed off its cover, exposing a long, dark drop to the unknown. Hunter groaned.

“God, I hate this _Mission Impossible_ crap sometimes,” he said. It took him a few moments to realise everyone was looking directly at him. “I’m going in first, aren’t I?”

“You’re going first,” agreed Bobbi, reaching up to push lightly at the back of his neck.

The four of them slide deftly into the base, finding themselves in a disused room that was stacked with filing cabinets and covered in decades of dust.

“I wonder what this place was before Hydra decided to rent it out,” mused Bobbi as they headed for the exit.

“I have a horrible feeling,” said Trip, as he brushed off some grime to reveal an awfully familiar logo. “That this was actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. base to begin with.”

Bobbi’s mouth tightened and her nostrils flared when she saw the archaic symbol of the S.S.R. “I don’t remember this in any of our records.”

“Oh, this was probably wiped off our records long before we were even born,” Trip said darkly.

“Sh!” Skye waved one hand to quiet everyone as she touched her comm. “Roll call five.”

There was a beat of silence. Then; _“Skye!”_

“Simmons!” gasped Skye in relief. “Have you found him yet?”

 _“No, not yet. We’re still having trouble with the server,”_ said Simmons, her voice somewhat higher than usual. Bobbi felt a pang of sympathy for the young scientist, knowing how frightening begin in the field was for her.

“Well, send me what you have, I’ll see what I can do,” said Skye.

_“No, that’s not going to work. You’re going to have to come to us and plug into their server directly.”_

The group exchanged concerned looks. Traversing across an enemy base, trying to somehow find one another wasn’t the best way to stay unnoticed. Suddenly a new voice sounded in their ears.

_“Bobbi?”_

“Mack!” exclaimed Bobbi, letting go of a small bit of tension in her shoulders. “Any luck?”

_“Negative, and we’re not going to get any further without eyes and ear on this base. Place is like a maze down here and we need to find Coulson and get the hell out as soon as possible.”_

_“Skye?”_ The was a collective intake of breath when May’s quiet yet authoritative voice sounded over the comms. _“We’re running blind. I need you and Trip to head over to Four as fast as you can. Bobbi, Hunter? Continue to sweep and keep us updated.”_

“Copy that,” said Skye, and despite everything Bobbi could see that she still felt a wonderful thrill at the fact that she was once again taking orders from her S.O.

_“And Skye?”_

“Yes.”

_“Ward’s here. He’s working for Carrington.”_

Skye closed her eyes against the blow, but only for a moment. She only took a moment to gather herself again and when her eyes opened they positively blazed. “Understood,” she said, before ending communication. She pressed her lips together and looked at Trip, whose jaw had gone tight.

“Don’t you worry, I got your back,” he said calmly, answering her unasked question. He nodded at Bobbi and Hunter. “See you two on the other side,” he said coolly, and then he and Skye were swept into the shadows and out of sight.

“And then there were two,” muttered Hunter. “What’s the plan, Bob?”

Bobbi shrugged and took the lead down the hallway. “Find Coulson. Kill anyone who tries to stop us. Blow this place sky high.”

Hunter follow close behind. “Neat, simple, and effective. Love it.”

 

* * *

 

 

No matter how many breathing techniques she tried, how many times she checked and re-checked her equipment, or how many different old programming algorithms she ran through her mind over and over again, there was nothing Skye could do to calm herself down. Ever since the explosion back at the Playground she’d had this terrible, gnawing fear eating away at her inside like acid. She’d tried to play it off as natural worry for her friends or as a symptom of too much adrenaline over too short a period, but nothing could shake the thought from her mind that there was something even more awful waiting for them just ahead. She breathed in deeply through her nose, held it for a moment, and then let it out through her mouth. Keep calm, she ordered herself, glancing down at the tablet that provided much need light in this dank underground environment. On the screen she could see three bright red dots that they were getting closer to the spots indicating Simmons, Fitz and some other agent, but without the blueprint of the base to give them a proper map, they were basically playing a highly advanced game of ‘hot and cold’.

Suddenly she felt Trip’s hand at her elbow as he pulled her quickly and quietly through an open door into a disused room, two of Carrington’s lackies strolling past a few seconds later. Skye held herself as still as an iron rod and only once she realised the present danger was over did she slump forward.

“Skye,” Trip’s voice was hushed, but firm. “Sometimes being too focused on your goal causes you to miss the little things right in front of you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just … I just can’t shake this awful feeling that something even worse is yet to come.”

“Girl, we’re S.H.I.E.L.D. agents,” said Trip, a slow smile. “It’s kinda our default to work on worse case scenarios.”

“Which is why I feel a bit off balance right now,” she said. “Because never in my worse case scenario did I ever think Ward was going to make an appearance.”

Trip looked down at her, concerned. “This has really shaken you, hasn’t it?”

“He’s a compulsive liar and a violent manipulator with revenge issues, and if he got his hands on Coulson then I can’t help but expect that something really awful has happened to him,” she blurted out, her fear getting the better of her for a moment. Trip realised this and quickly brought his hand up to gently cup the side of her face. She froze, surprised by both the intimate touch and the way that it served to sooth her.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’ve been trapped with him alone before, but you’re not alone now, okay? There’s a whole team of angry agents who’d be more than happy to put him down, me included. And I’m not about to leave your side, Skye. Not for anything. Got it?”

As he spoke Skye never broke eye contact, and the whole time could feel her heart begin to slow and her breath start to come in deep and even pulls. Hesitantly she brought her hand up to cover his that rested against her face. The whole thing felt strange and grounding and natural. “Got it,” she breathed, both of their hands dropping away but neither letting go. “And I’m sorry,” she continued in a much stronger voice. “I just … I feel like I’d be less worried if it were just me alone in here, facing him. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else.”

Trip grinned at this. “Ah, the lone wolf complex. S.H.E.I.L.D.’s always been bad at making agents feel that way. Building them up to make them feel like they can take on the world, which just means they feel like a failure when they realise that they can’t do that on their own. Don’t you worry about me, Skye,” he said, letting go of her hand. She immediately missed his warmth. “I’ll watch your back, you watch mine, and we’ll both be walking out of here.”

She managed a tentative smile before the two of them snuck of of the hallway and started heading towards FitzSimmons, but despite Trip’s comforting words, she still couldn’t shake the awful feeling of doom off her back.

After hitting a few dead ended corridors and having to loop back on themselves more than once, Skye and Trip finally managed to make their way to a single closed door that sat right at the very end of a darkened hallway. As Skye pressed her palm against the wood she could feel a soft vibration pass through it and could almost hear the dim whir of a mainframe. She glanced down at her tablet. According to it, Simmons and Fitz were just on the other side of the door.

She glanced up at Trip and nodded, and wordlessly the two of them raised their weapons, slowly twisted the handle and entered the room as quickly and quietly as shadows. Skye was struck at how similar the mainframe was to the one back at the Playground, but then quickly shook of her surprise as she reasoned that most mainframes would look the same. In the end technology was technology and whether it was Hydra, S.H.E.I.L.D. or the Rising Tide it was always going to look rather the same. The room was even darker than the hallway and the lights that shone out from the machine glowed like tiny supernovas in the gloom. Aside from the gentle and constant hum of the machines there wasn’t a sound to be heard. For all she could tell at that moment she and Trip were the only ones in here. Skye frowned and double checked her tablet. Three bright red dots blinked up at her, with two white dots, representing her and Trip, coming closer and closer to the point where they were almost on top of one another. But still, no-one. The icy feeling in her gut now felt like a lead weight.

Trip frowned as he cast his glance around, expecting and failing to see FitzSimmons. Suddenly, something at the far end of the room caught his eye and he tapped Skye lightly on the shoulder to draw her attention to the strange shape that was sitting by itself in the dark. Slowly the crept towards it, machines buzzing on each side, and as they got closer the shape materialised into what looked like a chair with someone slumped. With a careful, steady hand Trip slowly reached out and grasped at the back of the chair before quickly spinning it around to reveal whoever was sitting there.

It was Fitz. But he wasn’t conscious. Rather, he was slumped over, legs sprawled out in front of him, arms dangling limply over the sides of the chair and his head hanging at a terrible angle with blood oozing from a deep gash on his forehead.

Skye gave a strangled gasp but before she could do a single thing she heard the ping of a shot from a silenced gun, and Trip let loose a scream of pain, dropping to the floor with blood now pouring from a gunshot wound in his leg. She spun around and aimed the gun at whoever was standing behind her, freezing when she saw Grant Ward standing at the far end of the room, one hand curled around a pistol, the other wrapped around Simmons’ throat. Skye wanted to kill the bastard then and there when she saw that Simmons’ hands were tied behind her back and Ward was holding her so she had to balance precariously on her toes or risk being suffocated. Simmons’ eyes rolled in her head so she could properly see Skye, and Skye could not remember ever seeing her look so frightened and furious before.

“Skye!” Ward drawled out the word, cool and even, ignoring Simmons’ laboured breaths and Trip’s quiet moans of pain. As always he only had eyes for Skye and as always, it made her skin crawl. His glance flickered to the gun in her hands. “Oh, don’t do that.” He sounded like he was talking to a child. “Just … put it down, and kick it to me, okay?” When she hesitated his lip curled momentarily and crushed his fingers around Simmons’ throat, making her cry out through gritted teeth. _“Now.”_

“Okay, okay!” cried Skye, dropping the gun and swiftly kicking it towards him, where he easily caught it with the toe of his boot. After a few more agonising seconds he loosened his hold on Simmons and let her drop down to the flats of her feet, although he didn’t remove his hand.

“Good,” he said softly. “Good … now Skye? I’m going to need you to call the rest of your team.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I won't be so long between updates again.


	25. Chapter 25

May and Mack continued to wend their way downward, going deeper and deeper into the belly of the base. May was starting to feel mild warning trembles pass through her body every now and then, the usual symptom she got these days when her body was reaching the end of its endurance levels. She did her best to shake this feeling off, trying her best to focus on getting Coulson and getting out of this dark hellhole. I’ll rest when I’m tired and I’ll sleep when I’m dead, she thought stubbornly as she kept pace at Mack’s side. Still, there was another nagging worry that was starting to eat at her and soon Mack gave voice to her concerns.

“Don’t you find it a little strange that, aside from those two goons, we haven’t come across any other personnel?” asked Mack.

“Absolutely,” she said, every sense straining to pick up on some noise or movement to indicate that there was some other life to be found down here. “Although, there’s always the possibility that it’s a very small force occupying a very large base and we just haven’t had time to track them all.”

Mack gave her a flat stare. “Do you believe that?”

“Nope,” she said. “Which just makes the other possibility even more terrifying. They already know we’re here.”

Mack blew out a sigh and gripped his pistol a little tighter. “Well, if that’s the case then what are they waiting for?”

May shrugged as she turned a corner —

 

_“Bet you don’t get awesome food like this at the Academy,” boasted her Dad as he joined her on the couch, balancing a massive plate of something sweet and deep fried on a pillow between them._

_“Sorry, that’s classified,” grinned Melinda, tucking in straight away. Food at the Academy was alright, but it was all focused on health and development and left very little room for indulgences. While she was at home she fully intended to stuff her face at every opportunity and her father, the wonderful chef that he was, was only too happy to oblige._

_“Well, they’re not starving you, that’s for sure,” he said, studying her face carefully. “Actually, I think you’ve put on weight.”_

_“Dad!”_

_“That’s a good thing!” he said, throwing his hands up. “Weight like muscle. You look stronger, more filled out. It’s good.” He picked up a piece of food and munched on it thoughtfully. “You’ve grown up.”_

_Melinda rolled her eyes. “I’ve only been away six months, Dad.”_

_“Still,” he drew out the word. Melinda glanced at him, and was surprised to see him looking rather pensive. “I guess … well, you’re not allowed to tell me anything about what you’ve been doing, right?”_

_Melinda suddenly felt her raging appetite ebb. “Sorry, we can’t.”_

_He nodded, looking down. “I understand. It’s the same with your mother.”_

_In a flash Melinda suddenly saw her father in an entirely different light. He looked so … ordinary. And the moment she thought that she hated herself. He wasn’t ordinary, he was her Dad! He was remarkable, incredible, one of a kind! But … but he could only ever have a passing idea at the kinda of world his wife and now his daughter inhabited. They could never freely talk about what they experienced to him and he would never fully understand what kind of secrets they carried._

_“How do you and Mom deal with it?” she asked, throat tight, cursing herself for never thinking to ask before._

_He blinked and looked up, seemingly surprised at her distress. “We just do,” he said simply. “I don’t always know where your mother is or what she’s doing, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever loose my faith in her. And I might not know what she does, but I always know how she feels. In that respect, we never keep secrets from each other.” He paused and reached over to tuck some wayward strands of hair behind her ear, just as he used to do when she was a little girl. There was a touch of nostalgia in the action, as if he knew that he wouldn’t be doing that again. “So tell me, how do you feel?”_

 

“You back with us?”

May’s eyes rolled around until they came into focus on Mack’s face. It took her a few more moments to realise that he had one hand cupped on either side of her head and the other gripping onto her upper arm, holding her steady as he knees threatened to give way. The trembling in her muscles returned with such force that she knew he could feel it.

“I’m back,” she muttered, trying to push him away. “I’m —”

“If you say you’re okay Imma drop you on the floor,” he growled out, but still held her gently. “That’s the second time this has happened.”

“They’re coming more frequently,” she said, taking deep breaths and trying to ground herself.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” She stood a little taller and tried to shake Mack’s hand off her arm, but he wasn’t quite ready to let her go just yet.

“Well, does it feel like you’re getting better or worse?”

She pressed her lips together and refused to look him in the eye, which was answer enough. Mack took a deep breath but before he could get a word out their comms crackled into life.

_“May?”_

“Skye?” May was instantly alert. “Have you found the others?”

_“Yes, and more. We’ve got Coulson, May. We’ve got him and we’re heading out right now.”_

A wave of unbelievable relief hit Melinda so hard that her knees buckled, and she was once again grateful for Mack’s support. She closed her eyes, her knuckles white on his shirt. _Thank God,_ she thought. _Thank God, thank God, lets get the hell out of here_. Out loud she asked, “Is he okay?”

 _“He’s hurt, badly, and he can’t speak.”_ There was a wavering of Skye’s voice that was completely understandable and May felt a drop of ice fall into the pit of her stomach, cooling her joy. _“We need to get out of here, now.”_

“Understood,” said May, opening her eyes. “Teams Two, Three and Five? Did you copy that?” Once they all answered she gave her orders. “Exit strategy, right now. Are the packages in place?” When they all confirmed she nodded at Mack. “Fantastic. Lets get out of here as fast as we can.”

 _“Understood,”_ said Bobbi firmly.

_“Copy that.”_

_“Copy.”_

And Skye’s voice came last. _“10-4.”_

May froze. Wrong. Something was wrong. Time seemed to slow to a snail’s pace and then suddenly snap back with equal force. However, she didn’t miss a beat with her response. It was crucial that no-one should suspect anything, not even her own team. “See you on the outside, then,” she said calmly, while white hot streaks of panic were beginning to flash through her brain. Without pause she reached up, switched off her comm and yanked it out of her ear, signalling that Mack should do the same. As soon as he was clear she spoke. “It’s a trap.”

“What?” said Mack, stunned. “How do you know?”

“She used a ten-code. Those went out of date 2006 and Skye never learned them officially,” said May quickly.

“The why would she use it?”

“Because I taught it to her, to be used in case she wasn’t able to talk freely.” May worried at her bottom lip, thinking fast. “And I just gave everyone the order to leave base. They’re trying to get everyone in the same place. Carrington’s men must be waiting for them on the outside!”

“We have to warn them,” said Mack, who then looked helplessly down at the comm he now held in his hand. “But not on these. Communication’s been compromised.”

“If Skye’s under duress, then we need to assume that Trip, FitzSimmons and Varnes are all down, or at least being held hostage,” said May, her entire body ridged as her mind flew through the options that were unfolding in front of them. “We can’t risk opening the channels.”

Mack whipped out a small tablet. “Then we go to them,” he said, bringing up a screen that showed the team as nothing more than spaced out little red dots. He was already making his way back up the hallway. “Or get to the exits before them. Lets go!”

“No!” said May, her hands curling into fists and standing her ground. “Not without Coulson.”

Mack halted, and slowly turned back. “Look, May, I know he means a lot to you —”

“You’ve no idea,” she ground out.

“But,” he spoke a little louder. “Don’t think for a moment that he would want you — or all his team for that matter— lost for a fool’s errand. This base is huge, we have no idea where he is or even if he’s still alive. And I’m not prepared to risk everyone else’s lives on some vague hope of saving just one!”

May opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut again. Finally, through gritted teeth she managed to say, “You’re absolutely right.”

“Good, let’s go —”

“I’m not coming with you.”

“What _now_?” snapped Mack.

“I’ll get Coulson out on my own.”

Mack threw his head back in frustration. “No, you’re coming with me, now! Even if I have to pick you up and run with you, and you know that I can. You’re barely holding it together as it is and you and I both know that you’re not going to make it on you own. This mission was doomed from the start so we need to get out people, cut Coulson and go!”

“I can do this,” protested May.

“No you can’t!” said Mack. “Maybe if you were well, if you weren’t this sick and were actually the Cavalry you could —”

_“Don’t ever call me that.”_

May’s voice dropped to a hiss and her face took on a deadly look, stopping Mack cold. In that moment the tired, sick woman dropped away to reveal someone that was only talked about in hushed whispers, someone who created a legend of themselves that others feared to ask them about, someone who was about to cut through hell itself just to get what they wanted. She was half his size, yet Mack instinctively took a step backwards.

“This is what’s going to happen.” Her voice was low but crystal clear. “You’re going to get to the others before they walk into a trap, and then you’re going to rescue Skye’s group. I’m going to get Coulson. Any questions?”

He looked down at her, dumbfounded. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

May’s face was hard and unrelenting. She reached under the cuff of her shirt collar and pulled out the micro tracker that had been marking her movements, and the teams, since they arrived. Wordlessly she dropped it on the floor and crushed it under her shoe, on of the little red dots snapping out of existence as she did so. She then turned on her heel and disappeared down the hallway.

For a split second Mack considered making good on his threat to forcibly pick May up, put her over his shoulder and carry her out, but then he glanced down at his tablet. He could see a small cluster of red dots that weren’t moving at all despite the evacuation order and even more worryingly he could see some reds dots slowly but surely making their way to the exits where a barrage of bullets would be waiting for them. It only took another second for him to make his decision. He respected May. But he valued the lives of his teammates more that he did hers. Or Coulson’s.

Without further hesitation he pelted down the hallway and towards those red dots.

 

* * *

 

 

Skye’s stare was fixed on Trip’s oozing wound and her ears were filled with the sounds of his pained gasps for breath that were being drawn through gritted teeth. With his hands tied behind his back, Simmons similarly trussed and Fitz still unconscious, there was no-one to put pressure on the wound and try and stop the loss of blood. Skye stood far away from the three of them at the other end of the line of monitors, her hands unbound but her actions held in check by Ward, who had her tablet in one hand and his firearm in the other.

“Please,” she pulled the word out, hating that she had to use it for him. “Please, just let me go to him. He needs medical attention, now!”

“Nah, he’s fine,” Ward gave a dismissive shrug and then shot a grin at Trip, who nearly snarled in response. “Fighting fit, I’d say. Better than what’s-her-name over there, anyway,” he nodded to someone over her shoulder, but Skye refused to turn around. She’d already seen Varens’ body.

“I’ve already done what you wanted,” said Skye desperately, feeling a wave of sickness at the thought that she’d led her team into a waiting trap and once again hoping and praying that May had picked up on her distress signal. “What are you waiting for?”

Ward sighed and tilted his head to one side, a slight smile playing on his lips as if he was amused by Skye’s naivety. “I’m waiting for the best opportunity to sneak you out.”

She snapped her gaze away from Trip and looked up at Ward, incredulous. “What?”

For some reason, Ward seemed to take her eye contact as a good sign and moved slightly closer, putting the tablet on top of one of the monitors. “Everyone who’s alive in this room right now is only so as a personal favour to you, Skye,” he said softly. “But Carrington won’t let them go. He’s always looking for more warm bodies so really, there’s nothing more I can do for them. But you …” He paused, reaching up to delicately run the backs of his knuckles against her cheek, and it took everything in Skye’s power not to reach up and break his wrist right then and there. “If he knew you had the same serum injected into you as Coulson did, then there would be nothing I could do to protect you. He’d never let us out of his sight. So the first opportunity we get, we’re escaping this hell hole. Together.”

Skye nodded, swallowing back her rage. “So that’s my choice? I can be either Carrington’s prisoner … or yours.”

Ward twitched and a flash of darkness crossed his features. “You’re not my prisoner, Skye.”

Skye scoffed at this and rolled her eyes. But just before she pulled back, as was her desperate desire to, she noticed a tiny flicker of movement out the corner of her eye. Over where Trip, Simmons and Fitz were all held, something was happening. Subtle little motions that hinted at a bigger plan. Working on instinct she kept her eyes on Ward and tried to draw out the conversation.

“I feel like we’ve already done the dance, Ward,” she said. “Only unfortunately this time Mike isn’t here to electrocute you.”

Ward sighed again and slid his fingers into her hair. Skye could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat. “Oh, Skye. You couldn’t let me die then and you won’t be able to kill me now.”

“Hate to break it to you, but absence most definitely does _not_ make the heart grow fonder,” spat Skye.

Ward’s lips twisted harshly and the tips of his fingers began to press into the base of her skull, but before he could make a reply Simmons let loose a short shriek, and they turned just in time to see Trip collapse to the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, that was much easier than expected,” said Hunter lightly, keeping pace at Bobbi’s side. When she didn’t answer he cast a glance at her stern profile and instantly heard the warning bells ring out. “Oh no. Oh, Bob, why have you got that ‘something isn’t right’ look about you right now?”

“Because something isn’t right,” she stopped and turned to face him. “Doesn’t this all seem a little too easy and neat for you?”

Hunter threw up his hands. “Yes! For once! And so what if it is? What, we’re not allowed to catch a break every now and then?”

Bobbi bit her lower lip, unconvinced. “Following my instincts has done a lot to keep me alive in this job. I’d be a fool if I stopped listening to them now.”

Hunter just looked exasperated, his entire body practically vibrating with the need to get out of the bunker. “So what is it? What’s got you on edge?”

“Skye’s last message … didn’t it seem a bit odd that she’d use a ten-code?”

Hunter shrugged. “Yes? No? I know S.H.I.E.L.D. stopped using them but Skye didn’t come through training like the rest of us. Maybe she was trying to sound cool or something?”

Bobbi shook her head. “Not her style. She might be a new agent, but she’s an upstanding one. She wouldn’t just make a mistake like that.”

“So you think she’s been compromised?” frowned Hunter.

“I think we should be treading very carefully before we even think about sticking our heads outside,” replied Bobbi.

Suddenly, a rhythmic thumping could be heard at the far end of the darkened hallway, getting progressively closer and louder to the two of them. As a unit they raised their weapons and aimed them into the shadows, Hunter’s finger already a little too tight on the trigger, when Mack burst into view.

“Mack!” cried Bobbi, instantly lowering her pistol. “What they hell are you doing?”

“Getting to you guys before you walked into a trap,” panted Mack, putting his hand up to lean against a wall for a moment.

“Trap?” repeated Hunter, glancing at Bobbi in disbelief. She merely shrugged one shoulder in a ‘told ya’ fashion.

Mack nodded. “Skye’s been compromised, they’re trying to draw us out.”

“And May?” asked Bobbi.

Mack just looked grim. “She’s on her own.”

 

* * *

 

 

The burst of adrenaline she’d gotten after realising that Skye was now being held hostage had given Melinda a sharp but much needed boost. For a while she’d been able to delve deeper and deeper into the base without trembling hands or unwanted flashbacks. As she advanced she’d encountered more and more guards, having to knock her way past six more men and a locked door since she and Mack had parted ways, and rather than be disheartened but this resistance she felt a surge of confidence. She’d hit upon the more heavily guarded part of the complex, one where they would be keeping the prisoners. With every step forward she could feel herself getting closer and closer to Phil.

She could do this. She knew she could. She was so very close to —

 

_“Don’t tell me it’s because you care so damn much!”_

_His words hit her like a slap to the face. He’d never spoken to her like this before, never so much as raised his voice, but ever since he’d discovered her part in keeping Project T.A.H.I.T.I. from him he’d transformed into a completely different man. Phil Coulson was never someone who did things by half and right now he was putting all his energy, all his passion into trying to hurt her as much as possible._

_“Fury’s no longer around, telling you what to do … so why are you here?”_

_There was a pained, challenging tone to that question, almost as if he were daring her to repeat what she’d said back on the Bus. But she couldn’t answer and had the feeling that even if she tried, he’d just shout her down. Like another sharp stab she realised that he didn’t want to hear a word she said, not anymore. That he’d never again be able to look at her and not feel some pang of betrayal. All she could do was stand before him, helpless, and watch as everything that had ever passed between them from the Academy to now crumbled away to nothing._

_“You want some orders to follow? Follow mine. Or find somewhere else to be.”_

 

Melinda gasped for air, finding herself suddenly back standing in the middle of a darkened hallway, a million miles and a year between her and that awful day. But no matter what, she could still feel the effect it had on her and her stomach roiled with shame and anger and loss. She flung her hand out to grab at the wall, but with Mack no longer by her side to ground her she found it difficult to regain her equilibrium. She glanced down at her hand — it was shaking again. She knew she didn’t have much time left.

With a grunt she pushed herself off the wall and continued onward.

 

* * *

 

 

“Trip!” cried Skye, but before she could run towards him Ward grabbed her upper arm in a vice like grip.

“Not to fast,” he cautioned, raising his pistol and pointing it at the three figures at the other end of the room. Even from that distance Skye could see tears rolling down Jemma’s cheeks as the scientist looked up at her, distraught.

“Please!” she begged, twisting in her bonds. “ _Please_!”

“Ward,” Skye turned and grabbed at his jacket, making him look at her. “Please save him. I will do anything you want to do, go anywhere you want to go and I promise never, ever to leave your side if you just _save him first_!”

He paused and with an exaggerated look at the unconscious Trip seemed to reach a conclusion, although Skye could’ve screamed at how long he drew the whole thing out. He eventually let loose a long sigh of someone who’d endured a lot.

“Fine,” he huffed, as if this was all one massive inconvenience, letting go of Skye and casually reaching over to grab a First Aid kit off the wall. “You stay here,” he ordered, walking towards the other end of the room and kneeling by the prone Trip’s side. “You know, I thought Garrett would’ve trained his new men to be harder than this,” he called to Skye over his shoulder. “But then again Trip never struck me as particularly sharp. Let’s face it, members of his team were getting picked off one by one and he never even guessed that — _oomph_!”

Skye watched with an incredible amount of satisfaction as the seemingly unconscious Fitz awoke and threw himself out of his chair and onto Ward’s back with a vicious snarl, wrapping his arms around Ward’s neck and attempting to choke the life out of him.

Skye started to run towards them, but everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Trip’s eyes snapped open and in one smooth motion he looped his bound arms around his legs and soon had his hands in front of him, just as Ward threw Fitz off his back and across the room with an enraged roar. However, before Ward could recover Trip was right in front of him, clasping his two hands into one gigantic fist and slamming it as hard as he could into Ward’s head, knocking him sideways. As soon as he was off balance Trip grabbed at his gun, but as he did so Ward grabbed at the wound on his leg, causing Trip to drop to the ground with a scream of agony.

Skye just managed to reach the fight at this point, sliding in next to Jemma and quickly working on undoing her bindings, but Jemma shook her head and cried out, “ _Trip_!”, just as Ward lifted his gun and aimed it right at Trip’s head.

“NO!” screamed Skye, but before anything happened Ward suddenly froze. The three of them watched at he blinked rapidly, as if confused by what he was feeling at that moment, just as his hands started to tremble and his whole body began to jerk and twitch. He stumbled backwards, eyes wide, staring around as if someone might be able to answer his unasked question. Skye’s gaze drifted down from his face to his shirt and she felt a sudden wave of satisfaction and horror; embedded in his chest was a splinter bomb.

His chest started to disintegrate and crumble, turning to rocky debris before their very eyes and before he even had time to fully register what had happened the entire infection spread, and Grant Ward collapsed to the ground as nothing more than a pile of dust.

The silence was overpowering. It seemed incredible that only moments before they had been fighting for their lives and now, now they were free to go. Trip, Skye and Jemma all turned opened mouthed to stare at Fitz, who was only now just recovering from being thrown into a wall. The young engineer pushed himself into a seated position, rubbing absentmindedly at the drying blood that caked the side of his face before he realised that everyone else was watching him.

He blinked owlishly at them, glanced down at the pile that used to be Ward, and then shrugged. “Well, it’s like you said, Jemma. We needed to be able to protect ourselves. Just in case.”

 

* * *

 

 

Melinda moved as lightly as a ghost down yet another featureless hallway, keeping close to the wall. The shakes were back and even worse, there was now a faint ringing in her ears, a distant and frightening warning. She was going to be sick. She was going to faint. She was going to keep going until the job was done.

Still, she had to pause for a moment, drawing in a deep and silent breath. And another. Slowly her head cleared and the ringing faded somewhat, and she was able to again focus more clearly on the world around her.

It was in that moment she realised that she could hear someone else breathing.

She froze. It was soft, but in the quiet of the deserted bunker it could be heard well enough. It was a wet, ragged sound, as if every gasp of oxygen was an effort. It sounded like it came from someone in pain. It sounded like it came from the room right in front of her.

Melinda pressed her lips together and gripped her pistol tightly, edging closer and closer to the door, straining to hear any other tell-tale signs of life within. There was no sounds of footsteps, no low voices, no sign of activity. Just a constant, agonised pull of air.

Melinda steeled herself, her knuckles white on her pistol, and spun around the doorframe straight into the room.

And then let her gun fall to her side in the very next instant.

 

* * *

 

 

Bobbi, Hunter and Mack all stood crowded by their air vent, debating on their next move.

“We can’t go out, because they’re waiting for us, we can’t warn the others because they’re listening to us, and we can’t go an actually find them because this base is too big and our time is too limited,” summed up Hunter. “So where’s the good option out of all of this?”

“We could always just blow the base,” suggested Bobbi grimly, showing the men the detonation button that she had. “Bury everyone down here, one and all.”

Hunter looked aghast. “And how in the sweet Lord’s name is that a good option?”

“It’s not, but you failed to mention it,” she said, tucking the button back into her belt. “But that button is only for our bomb. The teams all have one each and they all need to be set off at the same time for the best results.”

“Can you not talk about this when were are still quite literally in the frying pan, Bob?” begged Hunter.

“Good analogy, because while we’re certainly not safe down here, we’ll be facing certain death out there,” said Mack.

“And the rest of the team won’t even know they’re walking into it,” muttered Bobbi.

Suddenly their comms crackled back into life.

 _“May?”_ It was Skye’s voice. Bobbi, Mack and Hunter all exchanged dubious looks and none of them made any move to answer. _“Bobbi? Look, I don’t know if you’re listening … I don’t even know if you’re still … oh God.”_ Past her voice Bobbi could hear laboured breathing and the sounds of footfalls. _“Don’t go out. Repeat, do not exit through the vents. I don’t have Coulson and was acting under duress in my last call. Carrington knows we’re here and has set a trap for you! We only just managed to get away ourselves and are heading to the exit as quick as we can!”_

Bobbi had heard enough. “Skye?”

 _“Bobbi!”_ She could hear the relief in Skye’s voice. _“You’re not out yet?”_

“No, not yet. Teams Two and Three?”

_“Negative, although we were very close to leaving.”_

_“That’s a negative for team Three as well. What the hell is happening?”_

“They tried to trap us,” said Bobbi, her mouth hard. “And as far as they know we’re still just one step away from setting it off. We can use this for our advantage.”

“We come out in force, catch them with their pants down,” nodded Hunter, a mirthless grin creeping onto his face.

 _“Where’s May?”_ asked Skye. _“Why didn’t she answer?”_

Mack cut in. “May caught your warning — nice work there, by the way. But she was unwilling to leave without Coulson. And I was unwilling to leave our team in the dark. She’s not answering because she took out her comm.”

There was a pause as Skye processed this new information. _“So wait … you left her down here alone?”_

“Her decision, not mine,” grumbled Mack.

“And at any rate, she’s no longer our problem. Sorry, Skye,” said Bobbi, pre-empting Skye’s protests. “But until she gets back into contact with us we have no idea where she is or where Coulson may be. This entire operation needs to be closed as soon as possible, and right now we need to focus on those mercs that are between us and our rides out of here. How’s the rest of your team holding up?”

 _“Trip needs medical attention as soon as possible,”_ said Skye who sounded like she was grudgingly accepting the situation. _“And … and Varens’ is dead.”_

Bobbi shut her eyes against this news for a second. “It’s time for us to leave.”

 

* * *

 

 

She’d found him.

And for a few earth shattering moments she was sure he was dead.

Then she saw his chest heave and she was able to breath again along with him. She holstered her gun and was by his side quicker than thought, and as the trembling in her muscles increased she knew right away that it nothing to do with her own condition and everything to do with his. He looked beyond terrible. Unconscious and pale, and the oxygen mask that covered most of his face did nothing to hide the fact that his lips look slightly blue. Even though the three bullet wounds had been attended to and patched tiny spots of blood continued to seep through the dressings, and that wasn’t the worst of it. Deep, surgical cuts marred his chest, long, precise lines that seemed to indicate that someone had started to cut him open. There were tiny rivulets of sticky, drying blood spider-webbing out from those slices, stark and red against his pale skin, but as Melinda touched a trembling hand lightly to those wounds she was relieved to discover that the blood was nearly all dry at this point, and though the long cuts on his chest looked painful and ugly they weren’t deep and hadn’t cut into muscle, let alone bone. It looked worse than it was.

Which wasn’t saying much, really, because it looked pretty bad.

Melinda wasted no time picking the locks of the hand cuffs and freeing his arms, though all they did was lay limply on the bed. She then reached up one hand to gently cup the side of his face. “Phil?” she whispered, her voice wavering. “Phil? It’s me. All of me. I’m back. I’ve come for you. Phil?”

He was completely unresponsive.

Melinda rolled her lips together and fought the urge to bow her head over his and just give way to the tears stinging at her eyes. Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and wrapped herself up in ‘Agent May’, the woman who could and would do anything to secure the safety of her team. Her eyes snapped up and down his prone body, noting everything in a detached, clinical way. The cuts were superficial; no need to worry about them just yet. The bullet wounds; more serious, but having already received medical attention they too could be ignored for the time being. There was a catheter taped into the crook of one of his elbows, but it was capped and there was no line leading out from it so at first Melinda couldn’t understand the purpose of it. Then, as she cast her eyes across the room she saw a small metal tray littered with used needles and drained vials. She felt a sick, cold rush go through her as she realised that they’d been injecting God-knows-what into him, and she now knew even less about what state he really was in. Lastly there was the mask, a thin plastic tube winding its way to connect to what looked like an old gas tank. So, they were using some kind of sedative gas to keep him under. If she removed the mask, he’d wake up. But, if he woke up, how much pain would he be in? Should she keep him sedated and wheel him out? But one glance at the size of the gas tank ruled that out; she’d never be able to move it alone with the trolley. The mask had to go. He had to wake up.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, pressing her lips quickly to his brow before turning off the valve and removing the mask that left behind deep lines marking his face where it had pressed into his skin.

She then removed the catheter and bandaged up his elbow, and after a quick rummage through the room managed to find a nearly threadbare blanket that she wrapped around his frighteningly cold body. But then, as she was just tucking in the material around his shoulders she felt another sudden wave of dizziness overcome her. But this time it was different. It felt different, it felt … final. Her hands gripping onto the side of his bed as her head dipped and her entire body curled over. It was worse than ever and to her horror she felt herself slowly sliding down into unconsciousness, her mouth dry, knees weak and that awful ringing back in her ears. It seemed that, without warning, she’d finally reached the end of her endurance.

“No …” she mouthed, eyes closed and her hands bundled in Phil’s sheet. She was almost too weak to form the word. _No. No. It can’t end here, it can’t._

Her head had now come to rest on Phil’s chest, her hair falling all around her face, and dimly she was aware that she could feel him breathing. Breathing. She tried to breath — _the whole word was fading out_ — she tried to think — _she was so tired_ — she could feel a throbbing in her head and wondered if that was her own heart beat or his — _she was so tired_ — she had to get up — _she was so tired_ — her eyes fluttered closed — _she was so, so tired …_

Suddenly she felt something lightly brush at the top of her head, sending a strange tingling sensation shooting down her spine. The shock of it served to clear her vision, if only slightly, her body giving her one last burst of adrenaline as it reacted to this unexpected touch. There it was again, light, soft, trailing from the crown of her head to the back of her neck, long strands of her hair becoming tangled up in the movement. Fingers. There were fingers weaving through her hair.

Very slowly she came back into herself and cautiously opened her eyes, her vision obscured as her face was still pressed into the blanket. She breathed deeply and slowly the ringing in her ears started to again fade away. And once more she felt those fingers stroke her hair before they finally came to rest at the nap of her neck, the tips weakly pressing against her skin, the thumb moving in slow circles. With her knees still shaking Melinda managed to finally raise her head off Phil’s chest, and as she did the hand that had been resting on the back of her neck slide its way across her shoulder and to her collarbone, before dropping back to the bed. As if in a dream Melinda looked up to to see Phil awake and staring at her.

And the whole world became silent and still.

Phil blinked once, than twice, his cracked lips parted as he struggled to breath. His eyes were glazed over and slipping in and out of focus as he fought whatever drugs were still in his system, but his gaze never left her face. It was as if he wasn’t entirely sure of what he was seeing and was terrified that if he looked away, even for a moment, she’d disappear. Slowly, and with great effort, he managed to again raise his hand just high enough to brush at her jawline, his touch light and testing as though he were confirming her earthly existence. Melinda quickly grabbed at his hand and pressed it against her cheek, tears barely held in check as she turned her face briefly to press her lips to his palm. Now standing taller she placed her own hand at the side of his head and bent closer to him, so there could be absolutely no doubt in his mind at who he was looking at.

Finally, with a laboured, cracked whisper he managed to breath out one word. “Melinda.”

An uncontrollable, watery smile broke out across Melinda’s face as she nodded her confirmation. “Yes,” she said, euphoria and relief combining and rushing through her, steadying her knees and clearing her head. “Yes, it’s me. All of me.” She pressed his hand firmer against her head and his eyes widened as he grasped her meaning.

“All of you …” he breathed in wonder, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “How?”  
“Long story, tell it to you later,” was all she said.

Phil blinked again, still confused. Then a shaky smile tugged at the corner of his lips and Melinda watched in joy as a shadow of the real Phil Coulson filtered across his face. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re beautiful, you’re so, so beautiful but … I think, right now, you’re looking how I feel. And I’m not feeling too great.”

A short burst of laughter escaped her before she could hold it back, and she made sure he could see her eye roll before she lent down and pressed her lips to his, her every nerve thrilled as she felt him kiss her back. She pulled away to find him smiling faintly up at her, still pale and weak, but alert and responsive. Already things were better than she expected them to be.

“Help me up, please,” Phil asked, his hand dropping from her face to grip her shoulder as he made an effort to get upright, but it was only with Melinda’s assistance that he was able to reach a sitting position, and once he was up he quickly closed his eyes and dipped his chin down to rest on his chest, clearly exhausted by this one small movement. Melinda’s elation began to fade as she realised exactly how badly hurt Phil was. If he could barely sit, how were they going to get out of here?

Heaving a sigh Phil raised his head and looked around. He frowned, suddenly aware that it was only he and Melinda. “You came alone?”

“No,” said Melinda, thinking fast. “But there’s been complications.”

“When are there not?” he asked dryly. She reached out to place a steadying hand on his shoulder and was concerned when she felt him trembling. He looked down for a moment, pressing his lips together in thought, and when he looked back up at her she knew exactly how much trouble they were in. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk out of here, Melinda,” he said simply.

She was already taking stock of what was in the room, what they could use. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way out of here.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Well, you should.”

This new voice froze the two of them and her hand on his shoulder convulsed in fear. Standing in the doorway was —

 

_— a man she’d seen a dozen times before in files and dossiers, but never yet in the flesh. Unlike all the other armed goons that surrounded her he didn’t seem in the least bit concerned about the small bomb she’d just planted at the base of the massive gas containers that supplied the facility. In fact, he just looked amused and even somewhat delighted, like a master chess player who’d been surprisingly outwitted._

_“An incredible gamble, my dear,” Carrington congratulated her in his strange accent. “But is it one you’ll be able to see through?”_

_“Absolutely,” replied Melinda through gritted teeth. She then turned her hand to show the men surrounded her the pressure sensitive detonation button she held. The moment she let go, the bomb would explode, the gas would ignite and the whole building would come crashing down on all their heads. A few of the masked men shifted uncomfortably and one or two started backing away._

_Carrington blinked and some of his delight started to fade from his face as he recognised something dangerous in her eyes. She’d already thought this through. She’d reached her decision. Either she detonated this small bomb and destroyed this shell of a warehouse or Carrington would hit his own personal self destruct button and leave a crater in the earth so large that it would wipe out not only her, but her entire team that were waiting hidden nearby. There were always acceptable losses in battles and this was one she was willing to make._

_Without warning she released the button and threw it though the air, already turning on her heel and running as fast as she could towards a nearby room she’d seen earlier, hoping that maybe she could find some sort of protective structure, some shelter —_

_Noise. Pressure. Then, nothing._

 

Carrington stood in the door, looking the same as he did the day Melinda brought his warehouse crashing down around his head. Only this time he was armed, and was carefully aiming a pistol at the two of them.

“Melinda?” murmured Phil, almost too low to be hear. Melinda shook her head, disorientated, before finally meeting his eyes. He was looking at her strangely, concerned. He’d noticed her slip.

Carrington seemed to have noticed too, and he gave a dramatic sigh and shrugged one shoulder. “Well, I suppose this is to be expected,” he said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, it’s that they never know when to accept that they’re beaten.”

Then he aimed the gun at Melinda and pulled the trigger.


	26. Chapter 26

Phil was in pain. In the last forty-eight hours he’d been shot, sliced, drugged, beaten and even had to endure facing Ward again, but none of this could possibly compare with the agony he felt as he watched Melinda take two bullets to the chest and get thrown back from the impact onto the gurney briefly before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

It all happened so fast that Phil’s chemical addled mind wasn’t able to even process it properly. He heard the shots and saw her fall, but it all seemed like such a distant thing that it was only seconds later that he was able to react. In an attempt to do something he lifted his heavy, uncoordinated limbs in a fumbling attempt to catch her. He wrapped his arms around her as she fell, trying with all his might to hold her up, but he was tired and weak, and instead of supporting her he was dragged down to the floor along side her, both of them landing in a tangled mass of limbs and blood.

He ended up slumped on the floor with Melinda’s head hanging limply back over his arm and a sharp, stabbing pain coming from somewhere between his ribs. He struggled to pull her into an upright position so she could breath. Was she even breathing right now? She wasn’t moving. Her eyes weren’t open. Her whole body was a lax, lolling mess that he quickly pulled closer to his own. “Melinda?” he gasped, bringing his hand up to the side of her face. No response. “Oh … God … no, no, not here, not now!” There was a warm, sticky wetness that felt slick against his torso and he felt an unimaginable wave of fear and horror rise within him as his other hand desperately pressed against her chest, looking to cover the wound that was now bleeding out on him. But as his fingers pressed into the smooth fabric he was surprised to find it dry and oddly firm to the touch.

Slowly he became aware of the sound of even, heavy footsteps circling around him as Carrington drew closer to stand in front of the two of them, the still smoking pistol held loosely at his side. “Uh oh,” he said lightly. “Looks like someone popped their stitches.” Confused, Phil looked down to see that one of his wounds had re-opened, the one where the bullet had hit his chest, smashed through his rib-cage and burst out the other side. He watched mutely as a thick trickle of dark blood ran out across his skin while at the same time he became aware of an uncomfortable gurgling beginning to build up within one lung. So the blood he could feel wasn’t coming from Melinda, but from himself. He felt a bizarre mix of concern and relief.

Carrington knelt down so that he was on eye level with Phil and more than a little too close to Melinda. Without thought Phil snarled and pulled her body closer to his in an effort to somehow protect her, while at the same time he was painfully aware of exactly how useless this motion was. This was something Carrington could see and his lips peeled back from his teeth in a small, fixed smile.

“And what, exactly, do you think you’re going to do, Mr Coulson?” he asked. “You can’t even stand up, let alone defend yourself … or anyone else, for that matter.” His glance darted down to Melinda for a moment and the look in his eyes was enough to send a white hot bolt of murderous rage shooting through Phil. “Such a remarkable woman, isn’t she? We’ve only met briefly but that was when she was willing to sacrifice her own life for something as trivial as the lives of her men. Not overly admirable for a commanding officer, but still a rather impressive display of courage. And then she comes all this way, right into the belly of the beast when she is clearly not well herself, under such strain and agony, and for what? For you?” Carrington laughed softly at this idea and Phil felt like he’d swallowed ice. “Cutting off one head only for another to grow in its place isn’t just applicable to Hydra. I’m fairly certain that S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t lacking in those who’d be eager to take your place. Let’s face it. You’re nothing more than an expendable cog in a very large machine and I can not, for the life of me, understand why anyone would risk their life for that.”

“I don’t understand it either,” Phil finally managed to rasp out. “You’re right, I am replaceable, this is a fool’s errand and if I could’ve ordered my team to stay away, I would’ve. I don’t deserve to have someone like her risk everything for someone like me, and I will never, ever, be able to pay her back what I owe. I mean, even right now, as we’re talking, she’s already proving how much smarter, quicker and more capable she is than me.”

A flicker of confusion crossed over Carrington’s face. “What?”

A sharp, mirthless smile pulled at Phil’s lips. “She’s wearing a bullet-proof vest.”

Melinda suddenly sprung into life, rolled away from Phil’s chest, dug her pistol into Carrington’s gut and quickly pulled the trigger three times.

The look of astonishment on Carrington’s face was almost comical, his pale blue eyes bulging as his mouth went slack just before he collapsed to one side in a twitching pile, a dark red patch of wetness already spreading across his shirt. But Phil only spared him a moment’s glance before directing his attention back to Melinda who was still wrapped up in his arms. She was still gripping the pistol as she stared down at Carrington, her entire body as hard as iron as she breathed heavily through her nose, her mouth set in a hard line, her face pale and covered in a slight sheen of sweat. As soon as she was sure Carrington wasn’t going to be a problem anymore Phil felt her relax and go soft before she dropped the pistol. With a soft sigh she turned once again towards his warmth, closing her eyes and pressing herself into his chest. Instantly Phil wrapped his arms tighter around her, ducking his head down to rest his cheek against her hair and for a minute the two of them just sat there together, listening to each other’s heartbeat and breathing each other’s air.

“You’re wrong,” Melinda finally murmured, eyes still closed, her warm breath tickling his skin.

“About …?”

She opened her eyes and tilted her head back so she could look at him. She looked beyond exhausted, pale and clammy. She was without doubt the single most stunning creature in existence. “You deserve me, Phil. I can’t think of anyone else who even comes close.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Argh … _dammit_!” Trip growled out just as Hunter applied the last bit of pressure to his gunshot wound as he wrapped it up. “You suck at this! You are not a gentle man!”

“Excuse me, but are you still bleeding?” snarked Hunter, looking up. “No? Well, I don’t see what you’ve got to complain about.”

Mack, Simmons and Fitz all swapped glances, with Simmons’ delicately rolling her eyes while the boys tried to hold their smirks back. Meanwhile, Bobbi and Skye were standing slightly off from the others, pouring over their tablets.

“So you’re positive you can make this work?” Bobbi was asking quietly.

“It’s not easy, considering what I’m working with,” said Skye, shaking the tablet slightly out of frustration. “But it is doable. The fact that the tech is all synced with each other makes things way simpler than it could’ve been, but still … remotely activating both the Bus’ and the Quinjet's weapons at the same time isn’t exactly like flipping a switch. Particularly considering how far below ground we are. The signal strength is weak and I’m not overly sure how long the connection will last.”

“Hopefully long enough,” said Bobbi. “Our teams are sitting ducks right now, but with the right cover fire they should be able to re-take our planes.”

Skye sighed in exasperation. “Yeah, but …”

“But that’s not what’s frustrating you,” finished Bobbi bluntly.

Skye’s eyes snapped up. “No, I … Bobbi … we can’t just leave them here.”

Bobbi said nothing, merely set her jaw and turned away from Skye, her hand already at her ear. “Teams Two and Three, do you copy?”

_“Copy for Three.”_

_“Copy for Two.”_

“We have eyes on the hostiles,” she said, looking down at her own tablet that was currently patched into the security cameras on both the Bus and Quinjet, giving her a clear view of the small band of mercenaries that were waiting to pick off her team. She quickly tapped at the screen. “And I’m sending their co-ordinates to you now. On my command you’re to take out the hostiles and take back our planes.”

 _“Just the two of us?”_ came the question from Team Three.

“We have wounded that need to be medi-evacted as soon as possible and they’ll be following close behind you. Mack, Skye and myself will stay down here and complete the mission.” It was only then that she turned around to face Skye, who was staring at her incredulously, and paused in her orders to speak directly to her. “We’re not leaving them, Skye.” Back on the comms she continued. “Once onboard ready both aircrafts for immediate take off. Are we clear?” Once both teams voiced their confirmations Bobbi dropped her hand and faced the rest of the team.

Hunter was the first one to speak. “What’s this I hear about three of you taking on an entire base of bad guys by yourselves?”

“Most of the bad guys in the base are currently above it, Hunter,” said Bobbi in a tone of long suffering patience. “Which gives us the best shot of getting through the maze quickly, finding Coulson and May, and bringing them back to the surface before anything more happens.”

“And what about us?” asked Simmons.

“You, help Trip,” ordered Bobbi. Simmons duly moved over to Trip and tucked herself under his arm, trying her very best to give him some support. In all honesty, they just looked adorable. “Hunter, you provide cover if needed. Fitz? You provide even bigger cover.”

“The big guns,” nodded Fitz approvingly as Skye passed him her tablet. “So, this gives me access to all the weapons on the Bus and Quinjet?”

“Everything you need to launch a pretty spectacular surprise attack,” said Bobbi. “But you need to do it quickly. We don’t want them damaging the aircraft too badly and we don’t want any friendly fire, either.”

“Well, that just sucked the fun right out of that,” muttered Fitz.

“Mack?” He turned to look at Bobbi quizzically. “Do you think you could retrace your steps to where you last saw May?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “But you know she must’ve moved on by now.”

“Yes, but without her tracker we have to start somewhere, and there is as good a place as we’re going to get.”

“And me?” asked Skye finally. “Why am I with you?”

It was only now Bobbi managed to turn and give her a small smirk. “You’re coming with us, if only because I know there’s no way I could make you stay behind.”

“Damn right about that,” said Skye in a manner that made Bobbi laugh and Mack rise his eyebrows before heaving a massive sigh and quickly unholstering his pistol.

“And here we go again,” he muttered before taking off at a run, Bobbi and Skye close behind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If she could’ve just closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep with the promise that when she woke up she’d be in an entirely different location where she would be safe, warm and cared for, yet still somehow wrapped up in Phil’s arms, Melinda would’ve succumbed to dreamland within minutes. But, as it stood, going to sleep right there and then would probably result in both their deaths, and she’d come too far for that to be an option.

So, with the upmost reluctance, Melinda gradually began to peel herself away from Phil’s warmth, pushing herself up to sit on the floor next to him, though she was pleased when she noticed that he seemed unwilling to stop touching her, his hands passing over her shoulders, her arms, her face in quick, light movements as if he was uncertain which part of her he wanted in his hands the most. She smiled softly at him and reached up to cup at the side of his face, her heart thumping in her chest as he sighed and leant into her touch. But, as the moment went and and he still kept his eyes closed without any sign of moving, Melinda felt those small threads of fear beginning to yet again twist their way through her gut.

“Phil?” she asked quietly.

Still nothing. Then, with the slightest of breaths he finally managed to say, “I’m not well, Melinda.”

It was only then that her gaze drifted down and she noticed that the wound on his chest had reopened and was bleeding quite profusely. Melinda felt a sudden wave of horror as she realised that while she’d been enjoying the comfort of his embrace, he’d been bleeding out all over her.

“Oh God!” she cried, quickly gathering up the blanket that was still wrapped around his shoulders and pressing some of the fabric to the gaping hole, becoming even more alarmed when this action, which would make most people moan and complain from the pain, elicited only a slightly twinge of discomfort and another small sigh. And then another light breath. This turned the twinge she felt into full blown alarm bells as she realised that he was breathing light and shallow. “Phil? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He lazily opened his eyes and stared at her sadly. “My lung was punctured. I think I’m drowning.”

Melinda felt a wave of hopelessness crash down upon her, quickly follow by a staunch resistance. “No,” she said firmly. “We’re getting out of here, you and me. You are not allowed to fall behind on this.”

“I’ll do my best,” murmured Phil, his eyes falling shut again — only to snap back open as Melinda gave his cheek a firm tap.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she ordered, eyes already searching the room for something to used. “You’d think for a doctor Carrington would’ve had more supplies than this.”

“He really wasn’t that kind of doctor …” muttered Phil darkly, only trailing off when he noticed Melinda’s long forgotten comm hanging loosely from the collar of her shirt. “You’ve stayed completely off comms?”

“For the meantime, yes.”

He weakly raised his arm to gesture at the device. “Do you mind if I …?”

She quickly unclipped it from her shirt and handed it to him before standing up — wavering ever so slightly — and turning to scavenge through the room further, stepping over Carrington’s body like it wasn’t even there. Phil leaned back again and closed his eyes, putting the comm to his ear and turning it on. Instantly he started hearing crackling commands, shouts and background noise that was sounding more than a little messy.

_“ — clear, going to have to loop round the back.”_

_“Negative! We have eyes on hostiles there, do not engage!”_

Phil felt his spirits lift. That was definitely Hunter’s voice giving out those commands. He was even more relieved to hear Fitz immediately afterwards.

_“I got you. Standby.”_

There was a pause, then the muffled sound of large, heavy gun blasts. Another slightly longer pause then the first voice spoke again.

_“This is Team Two, we’re most definitely clear this time.”_

_“Fantastic.”_ Hunter again. _“Do you have a clear run at the Bus?”_

_“Affirmative.”_

_“This is Team Three. We have the Quinjet.”_

Melinda returned to his side with more gauze and what looked like a long and nasty needle. Phil had an idea what that might be used for later if the blood in his lungs became too much and was grateful that at least Melinda was the one holding the surgical equipment this time.

“Are you hearing anything?” she asked as she gingerly peeled the blanket back and replaced it with the gauze.

“Sounds like a firefight,” said Phil, when suddenly a new voice came across.

_“Trip and I are heading towards the side of the Bus now. Is it clear for us?”_

“Simmons,” he reported to Melinda. She suddenly stopped what she was doing and look shocked.

“What?” she said.

“Why is this a surprise?”

“Because last I’d heard Simmons and the others had been compromised and were unable to communicate freely,” she answered. The two of the paused a moment, then Melinda reached into her back pocket and pulled out a smart phone as Phil handed her the comm. After a few quick swipes audio that had previously been just for a single ear was now streaming through the speakers on the phone.

There was the indistinct sound of crashing and rapid gun fire, all accompanied by shouts from both sides before everything sudden feel into static, then silence. There were a few more pops and hisses before Simmons’ clear tones sounded again. _“We’re in, heading for the medical bay now.”_

 _“Copy that,”_ said Hunter. _“And that was some pretty nice shooting there, Fitz. Looks like we’re clear of hostiles.”_

 _“I’m not picking up anything on the cameras or infrared, so yeah, looks like we’re clear,”_ replied Fitz, relief evident in his voice.

 _“Great,”_ said Hunter. _“So, this was fun, but I’m heading back into the base now.”_

Suddenly Bobbi’s voice burst across the feed. _“What? No, negative Hunter, you are not to follow us in!”_

 _“Too late, at the grate,”_ answered Hunter in a near sing-song manner that Phil knew would strike at Bobbi like an bolt.

 _“This is an order Hunter,”_ snapped Bobbi. _“Remain with the Bus, ready it for take off, and wait for us to bring May and Coulson back!”_

At the sound of their names the two of the exchanged a look before Melinda made another swipe on the phone which turned on the receiver. “Bobbi, do you copy?”

There was an incredibly long pause before a new voice was added to the mix with an excited and disbelieving, _“May?”_

“Skye,” said Phil. “What’s going on?”

Another long pause. Phil could only imagine the kind of conversation that was taking place on the other end of that comm. _“What’s going on?”_ she finally spluttered. _“The long version or the short version?”_

Before anyone could answer that Mack finally joined the conversation. _“Bobbi, Skye and I are still in the base trying to find you, the others are waiting at the jets for immediate lift off. So where the hell are you so I can find the two of you and personally kick May’s ass into the next holiday season.”_

Phil opened his mouth quickly for a rather cutting reply, but Melinda put her hand on his arm to stop him, saying quietly, “I actually deserve that.”

 _“Well, now I_ know _you’re dying,”_ snarked Mack.

 _“The point is, we’ve cleared out most of the enemy and now we’re coming to get the two of you and bring you home,”_ said Skye, her voice tight with emotion.

Phil felt a sudden wave of absolute relief almost completely overwhelm him and as his eyes closed and his shoulders slumped he blindly reached out for Melinda, grasping at her arms, her neck, her waist, any part of her he could reach, pulling her back to him, twining them so closely together that he could barely tell where he ended and she began. It was over. It was done. Their team was coming for them and were about to take them home. He could feel Melinda trembling against him and knew that she was as overcome as he was. After all the pain and fear and despair, they were finally going to be pulled out of this hell hole and be able to —

A shrill, rapid beeping suddenly filled the air.

And Phil felt his entire body go cold.

 _“What’s that?”_ asked Bobbi.

 _“It’s not on our end,”_ said Hunter.

Phil’s eyes remain closed and his arms remained around Melinda, but judging by the way she’d gone stiff she also knew exactly what that noise indicated. Slowly, she pulled away without once looking him in the eye and turned to Carrington’s body. Wordlessly she rolled the lifeless lump over and began to search through the pockets as Phil numbly spoke to his team.

“Most bases like this one have a self destruct protocol,” he said tonelessly. “And some of the more paranoid despots tend to have that button ready to go at any conceivable moment. Like, in this case …” he trailed off as Melinda pulled out Carrington’s phone and showed Phil the screen. On it were red numbers counting down from five minutes, and a small number pad waiting for a code. “An hourly countdown that can only be countermanded by the person who knows the correct code.”

 _“But …”_ Skye sounded confused. _“There already was an explosion. The base …”_

“It was a distraction,” said Phil. “Like the warehouse itself. This time, it’s the real deal and I guarantee that it’ll be a much bigger bang this time.”

 _“How long do we have?”_ asked Bobbi.

Phil closed his eyes again. “Less than five minutes.”

All hell broke loose.

 _“Hunter, get the Bus into the sky NOW!”_ ordered Bobbi.

_“No, I’m —”_

_“Goddammit Hunter, do as I say!”_ Bobbi yelled.

_“I’m not leaving you here!”_

_“We’ll be evacuating via the Quinjet, the Bus takes more time to get lift off, WHY AM I STILL HAVING THIS CONVERSATION?”_

_“We’re on it,”_ Trip’s controlled tones quickly put an end to that.

_“Mack, open that vent, we’re getting out of here.”_

_“Not without May and Coulson we’re not!”_ cried Skye.

This was followed by another long pause.

While this was happening Melinda had come back and curled up next to him, dropping her head on his shoulder and grasping at his hands that lay in his lap. Between the two of them was their own phone they were communicating with, and the phone with the countdown and the piecing beeping. But for some reason that irritating sound was faint and unimportant, so very unimportant compared to the feeling of her hair brushing up against his cheek, or the way her fingers fit so well within his own, or how she turned her face ever so slightly so her lips brushed against his neck. The world was about to end, and he was with the only person he wanted to be with.

“Skye,” said Melinda so softly, so clearly. All other chatter stopped instantly and Phil knew that everyone was listening intently. “You have to go. Now. The blast radius will destroy everything for miles around and you need to be in the Quinjet in less than four minutes.”

 _“But … you …”_ stammered Skye, and Phil could hear the tears she was desperately struggling to hold back.

“There’s no way you can find us in time,” said Melinda gently. “If you stay, you die and I … we …” He tightened his hold of her hand. “We couldn’t bare that.”

“Go, now. All of you,” said Phil, speaking to everyone who was listening. “And don’t ever wonder if there was something more you could’ve done, because there isn’t. Get out. Make S.H.I.E.L.D. greater than it was. Live long lives. You … you all made mine so much more than it could’ve been. So … thank you.”

“Goodbye,” whispered Melinda, before swiping at the screen and turning the receiver off.

For another minute of the countdown they sat in silence, listening as Skye raged and cried and ordered them to speak to her, as Mack physically dragged her up and out of the base and the three of them reached the Quinjet and escaped, the reception from their comms growing fainter and more static before it cut out completely — and then it was just the two of them and an incessantly beeping countdown.

Phil’s head was an uncomfortable mixture of too full and utterly blank, where there was so much panic and fear and horror at what was happening to him that he’d reached a sort of nirvana state of hysteria. Here he was again, faced with the absolute certainty of his own death, and with the pain in his side and the slow gurgling that was building more and more within his lungs this felt uncannily familiar to that day on the Helicarrier. But as he turned to rest his head against Melinda’s and felt her warm, soft weight at his side, he knew which situation he vastly preferred.

Still …

“I am the most selfish man on this Earth,” he muttered.

“How so?” asked Melinda quietly.

“Because, right as everything’s about to end, I’m not wishing you far away like I should be. Instead, I am so unbelievably glad that you’re here with me.”

She pulled away slightly so they could properly look at each other, reaching up one hand to gently trail her fingers across his worn face. “I was never going to leave you.”

“I know,” he said, staring into her eyes as if they were his whole world. “Melinda … I love you. I love you. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it took all this for me to actually say it and I’m sorry it’s coming too late and I’m sorry —”

Her lips were soft and sweet on his and suddenly he forgot everything that he wanted to say. It didn’t seem as important anymore. When she pulled back, her forehead still resting against his, she whispered, “You’re not too late. Never too late. I love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Far above the complex Skye was staring out the front window of the Quinjet, tears streaming constantly and quietly down her face. Bobbi was at her side in a show of moral support, but for the meantime she made no effort to reach out and touch her. She'd been lashing out violently to anyone who even tried in a very un-Skye like manner, so it was decided to give her her space. Bobbi’s own face was clear and her eyes were dry, but Mack could see behind that strong mask and knew that at that moment, her heart was breaking.

All three watched silently as the earth beneath them trembled, rose, fell and rolled in a terrible motion as a great forced erupted from far below the surface, tearing apart everything around it, destroying everything from the inside out.


	27. Chapter 27

_The hotel room was cool and clean, filled with a warm, golden light that was leaking in past the gaps in the resolutely shut blinds. Melinda smiled to herself and snuggled back ever so slightly into Phil’s embrace as he continued to sleep, his breath tickling her neck. She could see one of his arms stretched out across the bed while the other was curled protectively around her, his hand coming to rest just at her collarbone where she’d entwined it with her own. When the two of them had left Bernie’s Bar earlier the night before it had been Phil’s idea to go and book a hotel room, but as Melinda sent a sly smile his way he’d nearly tripped over his tongue in explanation._

_“Not that I was implying anything!” he’d said, throwing his hands up. “It’s just … well, it’s the weekend and even though it’s early I’m sure places around here will be booked out sooner or later, so I just thought that we should get a hotel room, then maybe hit the town, see what’s up? Unless … unless you want to go back to the Academy tonight? Maybe not … risk this?”_

_Melinda couldn’t help herself. “It’s okay, Phil. I know my honour’s safe with you.”_

_That was exactly not the thing any man, who’d just kissed a woman he really liked, ever wanted to hear, but she was more than a little impressed at how well he took that slight jab. “Oh …kay, well, I’m glad you feel … uh … comfortable with me …”_

_“Hm,” nodded Melinda. “So this hotel room … do we want twins or a king sized bed?”_

_Phil hesitated, mouth hanging opened, before he flatly stated, “I very much do not want twins.”_

_A full blown grin burst onto her face and she grabbed a fist-full of his shirt as she pulled him in close for another kiss. “Good. Me neither.”_

_He wasn’t wrong. Most of the hotels were booked out, but they were lucky enough to find a nice little place just outside of the city limits that fell into their budgets. They’d booked in, than gone into the small room purely with the intention of seeing what it was like … and they never emerged to check out the nightlife as had been planned._

_Usually, Melinda was the type of person who absolutely hated it when someone made a plan and then bailed on it, but in this case she was inclined to make an acceptation. That first night with Phil had been … it was … Melinda shifted again and pulled his hand that was caught in hers up to her lips to casually trace them across his fingertips. Behind her, she heard him make a low sound in his sleep. She wasn’t a stranger when it came to sex and knew exactly what she needed to enjoy herself, but last night with Phil … it had been more. That’s all she could really define it as. More. At first it had been fast, months of tension snapping and crackling like dry undergrowth set on fire and in so many ways that was familiar to her, but as the night wore on it had slowed down and become something else. Never before had she really taken her time with someone, never before had she had the luxury and privacy that this small hotel room in the middle of nowhere provided, never had she known every inch of someone in the way that she now knew him and she was hyper aware that he knew every inch of her, too. The way he had looked at her, the complete and utter openness he’d shown … she felt that putting words to what had happened between them might do nothing more than cheapen it. So, she contented herself to think of it simply as ‘more’._

_She felt a shift in his breathing and a few moments later a tingle ran delightfully down her spine as she felt him place a kiss softly on the spot between her neck and shoulder. She grinned lazily and wriggled back even further, revelling in the feel of his warm, smooth skin against hers. “Morning,” she said, her voice still husky with sleep._

_“I’m not awake yet,” murmured Phil against her neck. He planted another kiss just next to the first one, then another, teeth catching ever so slightly against her flesh. “This is all just instinct now.”_

_Melinda purred and arched her neck back, giving him more access. “Good instincts,” she gasped._

_They only left the room when they got too hungry and realised, a little too late, that the hotel didn’t do room service._

 

 

* * *

 

 

His arms felt like an iron band around her torso. There was nothing but darkness and a ringing in her ears, dust in her mouth, an uncomfortable weight pinning her down. She couldn’t move, could barely breath, each little puff of air shallow and struggled for.

She didn’t even know if he was breathing at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“The great hunter returns!” crowed Phil triumphantly as he virtually kicked down the hotel rooms door, heavy plastic bags weighed down with the best and nastiest takeaway he could find swinging from both hands. “And I bring many gifts of a salty and greasy nature.”_

_Melinda sprung up from the bed where she’d been blandly flicking through channels on the ancient TV, wearing nothing but his shirt and a wide smile. She quickly removed his burdensome bags and opened one eagerly, taking in a deep breath and sighing happily. “My hero,” she said, not without a touch of playful irony, leaning in to pull a quick kiss from him before hopping back onto the bed with her bounty, Phil joining her a second later._

_“I’m usually not a fan of this sort of stuff,” he said, pulling out a burger that was so ladened with grease that the wrapping was already going see-through. “But after nothing but protein and health shakes for a year …” he paused as he took a massive bite out of the burger. “Hmmm. Thish ish gooord.”_

_Melinda giggled, her own mouth also full of burger but her sense of dignity kept her from speaking until after she’d swallowed. “This is more than good,” she said. “This is heaven. Please don't tell me you’re one of those food snobs that has a thing against chain restaurants.”_

_Phil swallowed and wiped at his mouth. “I wouldn’t say snob, necessarily,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s just I —” Suddenly he paused, giving her a side-long look._

_“What?”_

_“Don’t laugh,” he warned. “But … well, I don’t eat out often because I like to cook myself.” He looked away and picked at a few fries. “My mom’s an excellent cook. When I was younger she was always entering into baking contests and knocking out her opposition like they were nothing. Some of my earliest and best memories are of standing on a stool in the kitchen, helping her cook. Or just waiting until I could lick the spoon.” Melinda grinned at that. “It all came so natural to her that I never even saw her use so much as a measuring cup when she was throwing everything together, and every meal came out perfect.” But then he gave a small, sad laugh, his shoulders pulling up slightly. “Or maybe I just remember things as perfect.”_

_Melinda had put down her burger, staring intently at the side of his face. He’d never spoken of his family before and she suddenly remembered Garrett allusions to something that happened in his childhood, something that still affected him today. With a sudden flash she realised that she actually knew very little about Phil Coulson. All she knew was that she liked him._

_“So you cook because it reminds you of your mom,” she said softly._

_Phil smiled and then looked up at her. “And because I’m good at it,” he said, a touch of unpretentious pride in his voice. “Something I’ve inherited from her. I’m … I’m more like her than I’d like to admit.”_

_Melinda shrugged and reached out to place her hand over his, thinking about her own mother. “Well, that’s no bad thing, is it?”_

_His smile widened as he linked his fingers together with hers. “No. No, it isn’t.” They let go and continued on with their meal in silence before he spoke up again. “Still … after the first few bites this isn’t super great. The novelty wears off fairly quickly.” He wrinkled his nose and looked down at his half finished burger. “You know what? One day, I’m going to cook for you. I’ll show you what real food tastes like.”_

_Melinda made a great show of polishing off her burger and licking her fingers in satisfaction. “Can’t wait.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

She felt like she was breathing in earth. The small pocket of air around her was hot and stuffy, and each new gasp left her with a light-headed, overblown feeling. She knew at this point that it was more carbon dioxide than oxygen and that, even though she continued to breath, she was slowly suffocating.

He was behind her, the only softness in this new, dark, hard world. He wasn’t moving. And as she gasped and choked, as her panic started to rise and her limbs began to tremble yet she remained unable to move even the slightest inch, she prayed that he was already dead.

Because anything would be better than dying like this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_The bright red digits on the alarm clock showed that it was just past three in the morning. Phil lay on his back, one hand tucked behind his head, the other curled protectively around Melinda as she slept on his chest. He’d woken up a few minutes ago, completely awake and alert at an incredibly inconvenient time and whereas he’d usually just moan, turn over and try to go back to sleep, on this occasion he was more than content to just lay there, stare up at the ceiling and run his fingers through Melinda’s hair._

_She had such lovely hair. At the Academy most of the newer recruits tended to favour shorter hair styles as a show of seriousness and practicality, but Melinda had balked at that tradition and kept hers long, something he deeply appreciated now. She was sleeping soundly, her head resting just above his heart, one arm flung across his chest and curling up over his shoulder while her legs were all tangled up in his, almost as if she were somehow subconsciously laying claim to him. Once again, this was something he did not mind at all._

_If someone had told him at the beginning of the year that he’d end up in a small hotel room wide awake at three a.m. with Melinda May wrapped around him, he’d probably wonder if that person had recently suffered some sort of head injury. They’d been friendly, but weren’t really friends until well into the second semester when they’d been assigned to work on the same project together. A distant sort of respect had quickly evolved into admiration as they worked together and pretty soon Phil had found himself going out of his way to be in her company, walking the same routes to classes, running on the same tracks, eating in the mess hall together. He’d be worried that their ‘accidental’ meetings might come off a bit stalker-ish if it wasn’t for the fact that more than half the time Melinda turned up in places she wasn’t expected, either. Places where the only possible temptation she might’ve had to be there would’ve been … him._

_Phil closed his eyes and brought his hand down to wrap his arm around Melinda. At first he’d been too cautious to read anything into these oddly perfectly timed ‘chance meetings’, always running on the assumption that she saw him as a good friend, a solid colleague, and nothing more. In fact, it wasn’t until that night at Bernie’s Bar that he’d even had an inclining that there was any deeper feelings on her side. He brushed his lips against her crown, thinking that there must’ve been signs he’d missed, moments he’d mistaken._ I am not a good spy, _he thought sardonically._

_This was wonderful, this was incredible, but … this was also just a momentary thing. Their weekend had been an amazing and he’d opened up to her more than he had with any other person in years … and that was exactly the problem. He wasn’t a relationship kind of guy, he knew that. He liked the idea of structure in his life, of giving himself over to such a great cause so fully that he could become an important piece in a massive organisation that was solely dedicated to the protection of, well, the whole world. He remembered Agent Fury’s words from the very first day, about how once a man realised he was a part of something larger than himself that he could do anything, and he had drunk in that idea like it was wine. But that sort of dedication would come at a cost. And that cost would be anything that could possibly be regarded as normal._

_Melinda talked about her parents in a way that astounded Phil. She was an only child and had been adored from the very moment she’d been placed on this earth. Her parents had never forced their desires upon her and had allowed her to grow and change in whatever way she wanted to, whether it was switching from ice-skating to martial arts or pulling out of a placement at Harvard at the last moment to instead enrol in a somewhat shady institute known only as The Academy. Phil had barely been able to speak of his own parents after listening in awe to Melinda regaling him with such incredible stories as if they were common. His own father had died young, struck down by a terminal illness that he’d concealed from Phil until the very day he collapsed in the kitchen, right in the middle of making breakfast for his wife and son. It was only years later with the cruelty of hindsight that Phil had realised that all that shop work and talk about cars and motors and other things that really never held his interest in the slightest had been his father’s way of desperately trying to bond with a son that was already far too different from him. Had he been trying to impress himself on his young son’s memory, so that he’d have a firm idea of what his father was like, even as he grew up without him? When Phil thought back to those days stuck in that hot, oil-stained garage while other boys his age were out enjoying the world, he still remembered clearly the sharp stabs of resentment he’d felt towards his father for making him do something he clearly didn’t enjoy. And now, as an adult, he felt an overwhelming rush of shame that he hadn’t appreciated his father’s efforts as he’d made them and desperately hoped that somehow his dad had understood that he_ did _appreciate it all, he_ did _love the car and he_ did _love him. But, as always when he reached the end of this thought process, he’d simply have to accept the fact that his dad was gone and nothing could ever change that._

_His mother never fully recovered. Some of Phil’s earliest memories were of his parents laughter, of two sets of firm, warm arms curling around him, holding his up, keeping him safe. But after his father’s death there was no more laughter and an eight year old Phil had to grow up very fast as he somehow realised that his mother needed his help. Phil knew now that his mother had suffered severe depression, but as a child back at a time when such things were barely spoken of, let alone treated, there was no way to understand why his mother wouldn’t get out of bed for days. He’d wanted to look after her, he wanted to make her happy and when he couldn’t he’d felt such an overwhelming sense of failure that a child should never have to shoulder. He tried to be more responsible for himself, thinking that if he took that pressure off his mom she’d somehow get better. He figured out how to take the bus by himself, how to feed himself, how to cover if his teachers asked him about his dirty clothes or why his mother hadn’t signed his homework. No-one really bothered him about it, though, and once again with hindsight Phil realised that everyone probably knew what was happening — but nobody did anything. Because that wouldn’t have been polite._

_When he’d been offered a complete scholarship to The Academy, he almost hadn’t taken it. He’d been beyond shocked that he’d even been accepted as he had applied only because it had been a dream, born from reading too many Captain America comics, to one day work in the organisation that his hero had helped shape and he felt he owed it to himself to at least try. But he’d never thought he be accepted — he was just some kid from Manitowoc. Solid grades, clean record, absolutely nothing beyond flat our average and defiantly nothing that marked him out as super-spy material. But someone at S.H.I.E.L.D. must’ve seen something of worth, because he was being offered a free ride towards his dream job. However, one thing stood in his way._

_His mother._

_He never, ever thought of it like that, though. He was simply convinced that he was needed more at home than in some face away academy where letters and phone calls were restricted. Ironically enough, it was his mother who convinced him to go in the end after she’d found his letter of congratulations in the bin. They’d sat together in the living room and had one of those long, quiet talks that so shaped his childhood after his father’s death, each conversation leaving him feeling like something had been accomplished, that he’d somehow managed to reach that distant, locked up part of her … and then everything would fall back into the same familiar pattern a few weeks later. She had seemed so proud of him and so worried that he’d let this dream of his go just for her. He’d tried to explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not really, but in the end she’d worn him down and he’d sent off his confirmation letter that evening. This year at The Academy had been the longest he’d been away from his mother since his father died and while at first the anxiety had been nearly paralysing in those early, quiet hours of the morning, gradually everything seemed to fall neatly into place. When he’d gone home after the first semester he was pleased to find his mom well, gardening and even cooking, so happy to see her boy after so long that she kept both of them steadily occupied all throughout the two weeks break._

_Not once did Phil venture into the garage._

_He didn’t consider himself damaged by any of this, he just knew that he was cautious. Close relationships could be catastrophic and he was so very much like his mother. Deep down there was a part of him that wondered if he, too, might one day just give up on the world, might crawl into bed and never again emerge. He knew logically that it was a possibility, and even though he knew that a relationship might not necessarily be the catalyst for such an event he still thought … why tempt fate? Why commit so much time and energy to a venture that would likely eventually fail? It didn’t make sense to become so emotionally wrapped up in something that was probably doomed from the start._

_He sighed and pulled Melinda closer to him, trailing his fingers lightly across her bare skin, making her shiver in her sleep and cling to him even tighter. But this wasn’t anything serious. He knew Melinda’s way and had already deducted that this was a one off event, a celebration of the end of one of the hardest years of both their lives. They were heading back to The Academy tomorrow and back to their old patterns. And he could handle that. He could. After all, this weekend had been … had been …_

_He kissed her sleeping face once, twice, again, indulging himself in something he wasn’t going to have after this. He had a cynic’s mind and a romantic’s heart, and he knew that combination was probably going to kill him one day._

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was like there was a pillow over his face, water in his lungs and a weight on his back. White dots and random explosions of light burst across his mind’s eye every now and then, and even though he knew in a far off part of his mind that this was a bad thing, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Because it didn’t hurt so bad, not really. In fact, he felt warm. Oddly comfortable. He was ready to sleep, now. Yes. Sleep sounded wonderful …

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Considering they were still in the same set of clothes they had left The Academy in three days ago, Melinda thought that the two of them didn’t look too shabby, considering. Phil, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling nearly so relaxed about his current state of uncleanliness._

_“I feel like a hobo,” he muttered unhappily as he sidled up beside her motorbike._

_“A very stylish hobo,” countered Melinda. “Besides, if you’re a hobo, what does that make me?”_

_“A hobo princess,” said Phil with a self satisfied smile, as if he was already congratulating himself on his rather lame joke._

_“Well, we’ve both had showers, so at least we got clean,” said Melinda, before giving him a saucy grin. “_ Eventually _.”_

_Phil smiled back, but there was something reserved about it. The whole weekend the two of them had virtually been in their own little world and had barely even seen the sky except for extreme circumstances, like a food run. And even then that had only been done under the cover of darkness. But now, in the harsh light of day, Phil was acting … well, he was acting like Phil. Academy Phil, the good student, her friend. Melinda suddenly feel her stomach swoop. That was it, he was acting exactly like her friend, not her lover. Did he think that this was just a fling for her? That once they got back to the Academy it would be back to business as usual? She felt a mild panic begin to rise at the thought that everything that passed between them, everything they shared was to become nothing more than a pleasant memory for the two of them, without even the thought of exploring it further and finding out where these feelings might lead._

_She knew that the moment they hit S.H.I.E.L.D. territory again that there would be no talking to him, that everything would be shut up neatly in the past and left there. So, taking a deep breath she circled around the motorbike and came right up to face him._

_“Phil,” she said, looking up at him and feeling oddly breathless. “You don’t regret any of this, do you?”_

_He looked floored. “What? No, no. Not a second of it.”_

_“Good, because …” she hesitated, then went right ahead. “Because I don’t want to leave this at a weekend. I like you, Phil Coulson. I like you a lot. And … I want to see exactly what that could lead to.” He was staring down at her with a look that did nothing to calm her nerves. He seemed to be experiencing something halfway between astonishment and panic and as his silence stretched on Melinda felt her hope begin to fade away. So that’s how he felt, she thought bitterly. I really miss-read this whole thing._

_“Do you want to come away with me for the summer?” he blurted out suddenly._

_She blinked. “What?”_

_“I thought … this was amazing, Melinda. This whole weekend was …” he trailed off, waving his hand indistinctly as if trying to pluck the appropriate words out of the air. “Well … just … I like you, too. A lot. And if you want to, we could go away together somewhere.”_

_Melinda started to feel her heart pound in excitement as a slow smile crept onto her face. “Where to?”_

_“Anywhere,” he said, stepping even closer so her could wrap his arms around her waist and pull her up against his, her hands coming up to twine around the back of his neck. “I have a car and we could just … go. See the country from the highways and just … just drive wherever!”_

_She stood up on her toes, bringing her lips within an inch of his. “That sounds like a perfect plan. Let’s do it. Run away with me, Phil!”_

_When they kissed she could feel his smile._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She awoke to the strange sensation of being both extremely comfortable and also in quite a bit of pain.

Melinda May came back to consciousness like a diver coming up from a sinkhole, slowly, carefully, making sure not to exert herself in anyway that would damage what seemed like a delicate recovery process. Although she was only slightly aware of her body — drugs most likely numbing the worst of the pain — she could tell from various aches and pains that she had at least a few broken ribs, deep bruising and other strains and pains that would no doubt make themselves noticeable when she began to move around again. However, shockingly enough, her head felt completely fine. There was no throbbing, no pressure, no constant ache that defined her previous rehabilitation.

Her previous rehabilitation …

In a flash everything that had happened came pouring back and with a violent wrench she sprung up at bed, eyes wide and mouth gasping out a weakened scream. Almost instantly there were hands all over her and voices and faces pressing close, but she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, there had been an explosion and she was being crushed and she couldn’t breath and Phil … Phil …

“May, come on focus! Just look at me, okay? Just focus on my voice.”

Without even thinking Melinda turned to the voice that was both the softest and the clearest in the room. Slowly the voice linked itself to a face, and that face gradually came into focus.

“Skye,” she gasped, relaxing in a moment and falling back onto the bed. As she did so, all those other hands that had been holding her down quickly removed themselves. Melinda blinked rapidly, eyes darting around the room. There, next to Skye was Trip and just behind him was Bobbi. She glanced off to the other side to see Mack hovering close to the side her bed with Hunter standing just at the foot. “What … what happened? Carrington … the explosion …”

Skye nodded tightly, her chin trembling as she struggled not to cry. “That happened nearly twenty-seven hours ago,” she said in a wavering tone. “It was a miracle that we managed to find you after twelve hours of looking but ..”

“But let’s just say we were determined,” finished Trip, wrapping his arms around Skye in a comforting manner.

“Good thing you kept your cell on right until the end,” said Hunter, his arms folded as he stared at the floor. “Fitz was able to lock onto that tiny little signal and pinpoint your location.”

“And you just happened to be in one of the few areas that had some protection from the blast,” said Mack, leaning heavily against her mattress. “By some random chance a steel beam fell in just the right way to protect you from the worst of it.”

But Melinda didn’t feel comforted by all this good new. She was out, she’d survived. Then why was Skye crying? Why was Hunter unable to look her in the eye? She looked about her again searching for the one person she so desperately needed to see right then and found that he … he wasn’t …

_No … no …_

She forced herself to speak. “Where’s Phil?”

Everyone looked away.

_No … no … NO …_

Melinda struggled to sit back up in bed as despair started to choke her. “Bobbi?” she demanded, her voice a horrid, strained thing.

Bobbi eventually looked up and Melinda felt that the worst was confirmed before she even said a word. “We got him out with you but … Melinda … I’m so sorry. He’s too far gone. Simmons and Fitz have him on life-support, but … he’s not going to wake up. We only did it so you’d have a chance to say goodbye.”

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

 

It was like some awful, recurring nightmare.

Skye hovered just outside the tiny, windowless room where they were keeping Coulson, her arms folded tightly across her chest in an attempt to prevent the inevitable nail-chewing that she could feel coming, restlessly shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she stared in at the still, lifeless form that lay passively underneath Simmons’ ministrations. A little over a month ago she had stood in this exact place, only last time she’d been watching Simmons hover over May as she had injected a multitude of chemicals, preformed various operations and then had finally stepped back and claimed that there was nothing more they could do. That it was all up May to somehow find her way back to them or to slip off into that never-ending darkness that was waiting for them all. Last time, however, she’d had Coulson standing next to her as she’d flitted about the edges of the hospital wing, and though he had been drawn and silent he’d still provided her unmeasurable support and comfort. But this time she was all alone.

Coulson hadn’t been breathing when they’d finally dragged him and May out from underneath hundreds of tonnes of rubble, but by some miracle his heart had still been beating. Faint, thready, but there. Bobbi, Simmons and Fitz had converged on him, stuck a tube down his throat, injected him with God-knew-what as they desperately tried to keep him alive, with Skye watching all the while from where she was clutching May’s body in a white knuckled grip. The next hours passed in a horrid blur as they evacuated from the destroyed compound and made it back to the Playground where May and Coulson were whisked away and taken to separate rooms, leaving Skye behind in an empty, cold hallway, feeling overwhelmingly useless and unable to provide any real help to anyone.

She almost hadn’t noticed when Trip had limped up on crutches to stand beside her, but as his arm brushed her she felt a wave of heat pass between them and without warning a sharp pang had shot through her as an image of him bleeding out jumped up to the front of her mind. She’d quickly pushed it back down again.

“You found them,” he’d said, his voice laced with awe as they watched the two gurneys baring the most important people in Skye’s life disappear into rooms where she was not allow to follow. “I would not have believed it if I hadn’t have seen it.”

Skye had been unable to reply or even to turn to face him, because she knew if she did then all this outward control would crumble … and she could not afford to go to pieces now. Once she had touched down on the ground again after the explosion, she hadn’t shed a tear. She’d had a job to do and had been so singularly focused on finding May and Coulson that she hadn’t slept and had barely eaten a thing the whole time. She’d led the search, and had dug her way through concrete and twisted metal beams more often than not with her bare hands. When she thought about it, she suddenly realised that the last real meal she’d had had been with May, well over twenty-four hours ago. As if on cue, she stared to feel her legs shake and suddenly her emotions, which had been held tightly in check, were beginning to once again bubble to the surface. So she couldn’t look at Trip, because if she looked at him then … then …

His light touch at her elbow had made her jolt like she’d been electrocuted. “Hey,” he’d whispered, leaning in close to her, his breath warm and soft on the side of her face. “It’s okay. You did it. You got them out. It’s okay, Skye. It’s over.”

And just like that she fallen into him and wept. But these were not the hot tears of earlier. They were quiet and pained, and as they’d soaked into Trip’s shirt he hadn’t said a word, just kept running his fingers through her hair as she’d listened to his heart beat, strong and steady. He’d held her as she cried and she’d in turn held him up better than any crutch.

But he’d been wrong. It wasn’t over.

Simmons glanced up, and after seeing Skye hanging around the door she’d carefully set aside her equipment and went out to meet her, reaching out to grasp at her hands before she even bothered with words. They both knew there was nothing more to say.

There were a few moments of silence before Simmons timidly asked, “How was May when you last left her?”

“Awake,” said Skye. “But she’s not talking, not since we told her …” She trailed off, her gaze sliding from Simmons’ face to the still figure behind her. “You … you said he isn’t going to wake up.” She had to force those words past her teeth. “So … how long …?”

“We don’t know,” said Simmons quickly, sparing Skye the pain of actually vocalising the awful question. “But he’s stable. We can keep him like this … indefinitely.” She could tell that these words were of no comfort whatsoever as Skye’s fingers tightened around her own and so she quickly tried a different idea. “But you can still go to him. You and May are the only ones who haven’t. Sit by his side, talk to him …”

“Why?” asked Skye, her bright eyes snapping back to Simmons. “It’s not like he can hear me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Simmons gently. “There have been multiple cases of people waking up from comas, remembering entire conversations that were held by their bedside. And … and I think it would be good for you.”

“I’m not saying goodbye,” said Skye, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” said Simmons. “But … I need to be else where right now. And even though he’s stable I don’t —” She broke off suddenly, her professional veneer cracking slightly before she tried again. “I don’t like the idea of him being alone.”

Skye dropped her hands to wrap her arms around Simmons, pulling her close in a firm embrace. For a while the two women simply held onto each other as they tried to hold back their tears, but when they pulled away both had wet eyes. Skye dropped her hands to her sides and nodded once.

“Okay. I’ll stay with him.”

Simmons smiled sadly, leaning in to quickly kiss Skye’s cheek before hurrying away down the hall, a hand swiping furiously at her face as she did so.

Skye turned back to the cold hospital room and took a deep, steadying breath before stepping silently though the door and closing it behind her. Inside the only noise came from all the various machines that were currently hooked up to Coulson as they kept re-filling his lungs with air, kept his heart beating in a slow, constant rhythm. As Skye got closer she saw, for the first time, what kind of trauma he’d been through as she took in the gashes around his wrists, the swelling above one eye and the swath of pristine white bandages that covered a significant portion of his chest. She’d been briefed on what had happened but actually seeing it made it all too real, all too painful.

Her hand shook as she reached out to touch his and then she started and pulled back as she felt how cold his skin was. Like he was already dead. Strengthening her resolve she placed her hand over his, curling her warm fingers around his unresponsive one as she drew a chair up close to his bedside. After a few minutes she realised that she hadn’t said a word, that she’d just been staring at the side of his face where a tube was running out from his lips. His face was so still and so grey that she almost couldn’t believe that this was really AC lying there and not some half-made imposter. It was like there was something missing in him, and she shuddered and turned away from the thought of what that ‘something’ might be. Suddenly, at an utter lack of being able to do anything else, she began to speak.

“May’s awake,” she said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “She’s going to be okay. Few bumps and bruises, fractures in her left ankle and some broken ribs but still, when you consider that a building fell on her … twice,” she paused and grinned, “She’s not doing too badly.” As quickly as it came her mirth faded. “She’ll be coming around soon, I know it. Hasn’t said it yet. Hasn’t said much, really … hey, I never really got around to asking, but … what happened with you two? And I don’t mean these last few weeks, either. You two were totally a thing, right? Back in the good old days? Days before I was even born, right? How _old_ are you?” A strangled puff of laughter escaped her and some wild part of her imagination hoped that this was all that was needed to shock him awake, just so he could glare at her and protest that he wasn’t old, he was just worldly. But he remained still. Skye quietened and reached up her other hand to hold onto his more tightly, struggling to put some heat back into his skin. “I never really had friends, or even that many relationships that were worth remembering. But you know that. I can’t imagine knowing someone as long as you two have known each other, or caring for someone like that. And before I met you, I’d never even considering that to be a thing. Like … people just don’t _do_ that. It’s not the way the world runs. Nobody sticks around. No-one ever stuck around for me.” She leaned forward at this, dropping her chin onto his hand and staring off into nothing. She could bare to look at his face anymore. “You were the first one to ever give me a chance, you know that? A real chance to do something, to be someone. And it wasn’t like you were some weird guy that just saw me as a tool to be sharpened and used and then forgotten about when convenient, but like … you were kind to me. God, do you know how many people have been kind to me?” Tears stung at her eyes but she held them back. She wasn’t about to cry over herself, not here. “For the first time in my life I was wanted, I was even needed. I could help. You, FitzSimmons, May … you treated me like an equal. Like someone who deserved respect. Like someone who _mattered_. I’d never, ever expected that from someone who’s way of greeting involved putting a bag over my head. Remember that? You so lived up to my ‘scary men in suits’ stereotype that day. But that was the only thing that did. You were … you were nice. People say ‘nice’ like it’s a bad thing but God, do you know how hard it is to find someone that actually _is_? You’re nice and you’re a dork and you just always seem to be so sure in everything you’re doing and I know that’s probably all just an act in some way just to make sure everyone else feels okay but —” she didn’t know when it happened, but there were suddenly tears rolling down her face, onto his hand. “ — but I need you to come back. Okay? You have to come back. You have to.”

Her throat closed up and she simply couldn’t talk anymore. She closed her eyes, held his hand, pressed her forehead into the mattress and listened as all those softly beeping machines continued to live for him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The lab was eerily quite when Jemma poked her head in, so much so that she nearly walked away again thinking that it was empty. It was only at the last second that she noticed a pair or sneakered feet propped up on one of the far away benches and she quickly made a beeline to the owner of those feet.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said in way of greeting and not without a touch of disappointment.

Fitz had been leaning back in his seat, arms folded, chin tucked into his chest. His thinking pose. He looked up at Simmons tone, surprised. “I’m usually here. Where else would you expect me to be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jemma frustratedly, unconsciously mirroring him as she folded her own arms. “Maybe with the people that need you right now.”

“Nobody needs me out there,” said Fitz softly, looking down again.

There was a brief pause before Jemma suddenly knocked his feet off the desk, causing him to cry out as he struggled to stay in his chair.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“I need you!” exclaimed Jemma. “I thought I made that perfectly clear when I … and you …” A horrible thought suddenly struck her. “Unless you regret it?”

“No!” Fitz jumped to his feet, coming close to Jemma and putting his hands on her shoulders. “No, not at all, not even, like, a little bit.”

“Then why are you hiding in here?”

Fitz turned and waved his hand at his work station, and for the first time Jemma began to realise exactly what he’d been doing. The wide computer screens were covered in bizarre data sequences that at first made little sense to her, but as she looked closer she realised that she’d seen similar things before. They almost looked like an old project she’d once worked on, the particulars of which had nearly been forgotten.

“What is all this?” she asked softly.

“Data I managed to grab from Carrington’s base,” said Fitz.

Jemma’s eyes snapped back to his. “What? How?”

“Just before Ward showed up I’d managed to hook up a hard-drive with one of Skye’s old worms in it that was designed to seek out, copy and store any and all relevant data.” He shrugged. “Ward was so busy threatening us that he never saw the hard-drive and I managed to grab it just before we left. I just haven’t had a chance to look at what was on it before, because it didn’t seem important and now …” He paused, put his hands on his hips and looked down. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t needed out there. There’s nothing I can do to help and I’m … I don’t have a good bedside manner. But this … this I could manage.”

Jemma moved closer to the monitors. “What kind of data did get you?”

“Everything he had on his super-soldier program.”

Suddenly everything she was seeing made sense as an old puzzle rose to the front of her mind once again. The miracle drug, GH325, that had saved Skye’s life and had brought Coulson back from the dead. The same wonder-drug she’d been trying desperately to reverse engineer with the intention of somehow replicating it before the world was thrown into chaos as Hydra revealed themselves to be festering within S.H.I.E.L.D. It now seemed that Carrington had been working on a very similar problem.

“Oh my God,” breathed Jemma, eyes fixed on the screen as she automatically started searching through her own files on the serum, both on screen and in her head.

“What is it?” asked Fitz, who was standing so close to her she could feel his heat. “I could only understand parts of this, this is really your area of expertise … so …?”

At first Jemma couldn’t answer she was so focused on what was in front of her, shifting through pages of information at a startling rate so that any outside interference would’ve been regarded as nothing more than a nuisance. Fitz more than understood this feeling and so contented himself with merely leaning ever so slightly against Jemma’s back as he waited for her reply, just enough so that she would feel the weight of him and know that he was there for her. The minutes flew by as she assessed the information she had when suddenly she froze. At first Fitz couldn’t tell if this was a good thing or a bad thing until she spun around, flung her hands around his neck and kissed him with such enthusiasm that he was almost too surprised to respond straight away. When they finally pulled apart his eyes were more than a little glazed over, but hers were sparkling with purpose and fire.

“Uh … okay, great … what was that for?” he asked, stupefied.

“Carrington might’ve been a bastard, but he was a smart bastard,” grinned Jemma. “It’s like I’ve been handed the last pieces in a puzzle that I’d had no hope of finishing myself. Quick, get Bobbi! We need to start working on this right away.”

Slowly Fitz’s brain began to catch up. “Wait … do you mean …?”

“I think I might just be able to create an artificial version of the GH325 serum,” she said breathlessly, already turning back to her workbench and clearing room. “I think I can save Coulson.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Melinda couldn’t even walk.

Her fractured ankle and broken ribs along with all the various other bumps and bruises meant that instead of walking by herself to Phil’s room, she had to be folded into a wheelchair and pushed there like an old lady. At least it was only Bobbi with her now and for that she was grateful. She and Bobbi had a long, shared history, and neither of them were overly comfortable with unnecessary talk. She didn’t think she could stand anyone else’s presence just at that moment.

After Bobbi had delivered her hateful news that Phil was never going to recover, Melinda had closed her eyes and fallen back into her pillow, trying with all her might to block out all the sounds and whispers above her in every way short of actually covered her ears with her hands like a child. She had been in total denial. He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he can’t be. That man’s survived actual death, for goodness sake! He can’t leave me. Not now. Not after everything.

But no matter how many times she repeated this over and over in her head like a mantra, loosing herself to false ideals was never something Melinda could properly subject herself to. And she also knew that Phil wouldn’t want her to do this to herself, either. She didn’t know how long she’d lain there lost in her despair, but when she finally come back to herself she saw that it was just Bobbi left in the room now, standing in the corner, quietly waiting. Melinda took a deep breath. Then another. She felt strange. There was a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach yet her limbs felt light and weak. After all the pain and rage her mind felt oddly calm, still and empty. She felt … somewhat outside herself, not like she was floating or having some sort of out of body experience but more like she was fading away. Like she didn’t sit quite right within her own skin. She found that she didn’t mind this so much. It numbed her.

When she was sure she’d be able to speak Melinda dully asked, “You said I could see him?”

“Yes, when you’re ready,” said Bobbi quietly.

“I’m ready now.”

Bobbi had nodded once, her face such a picture of concern and genuine sadness that Melinda couldn’t stand to look at her. When she’d wheeled the chair around to the side of the bed Melinda felt that this was just one last joke the universe was having at her expense. She needed to be by Phil’s side, and yet she was utterly incapable of getting there without help.

As Bobbi rolled her down the empty hallway, Melinda was glad to see that it was late at night and the base was virtually deserted. The only sounds came from the rubber tyres squeaking softly along the floor accompanied by Bobbi’s light footsteps. They finally reached a closed door where Bobbi brought the chair to a stop and walked around in front to look at Melinda. Her arms were folded across her chest and she looked both scared and determined.

“We both know Coulson’s thoughts on situations like these,” she began bluntly, hoping that like ripping away a bandaid the faster she got through this, the better it would be for both of them. Melinda didn’t have those same hopes. “After everything that happened with T.A.H.I.T.I. he’s been absolutely against any sort of continual life-support or resuscitation.”

Melinda just looked at her.

Bobbi sucked in a breath and went on. “We’ve all been in to see him, all expect you and Skye. We didn’t … we don’t …” She trailed off before once again rallying. “It’s your call. I read his will. I know you have, too. It always came down to you to … fulfil his wishes.”

Melinda dropped her gaze down to where her hands were folded in her lap. There was another long, agonising pause before Bobbi finally muttered, “Okay then,” half to herself, and gently opened the door to wheel Melinda through it.

A sudden rush of movement made Melinda look up as Skye jumped from where she’d been laying against his bed, her face swollen and puffy, her eyes red. She hastily wiped the back of her hand across her eyes but this did nothing to hide the fact that she’d been crying and through the icy numbness that had encased her Melinda suddenly felt a stab of resentment. She found herself wishing that she could cry like that, and knowing that she just couldn’t find the energy to do so anymore.

“May,” said Skye, her voice barely under control. “Are you …?” The question died on her lips as she took in Melinda’s hunched, withdrawn figure. Out the corner of her eye she saw Skye shoot Bobbi a questioning look, to which Bobbi only shook her head minutely in a warning not to ask. But she didn’t really pay much attention to them. Her eyes were fixed on the body in front of her.

Because that’s all he was now. His skin was grey, his form was still and there was a tube running from his mouth, forcing air into lungs that wouldn’t even work by themselves anymore. It was worse than when she’d found him on Carrington’s base. Back then she’d known that it’d been bad, but there had also been a spark of hope still burning furiously within her, a need to grasp at that very slim chance she had to bring him back home. But now they were back and that just made things all the more painful. All the more real.

As she looked at him she suddenly knew, in her heart, with absolute certainty, that Phil Coulson was dying. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it this time.

Shakily she pushed herself out of her wheelchair, waving aside Bobbi’s instant helpful hand as she limped over to the chair that Skye had recently vacated and gingerly lowered herself into it. His face looked so familiar yet so changed in the past day and while it pained her deep within her soul to look down at this shell, she couldn’t look away. Because it was still Phil. Even like this, it was still the man she loved laying there, and she just couldn’t look away.

She didn’t even notice Bobbi gently take Skye by the arm and exit the room, closing the door with the barest of whispers. The machines droned on and the sound of the respirator buzzed consistently through the air. She had no idea how long she sat there. She made no effort to reach out and touch him.

_Hard choices are coming. I need you to make this one. For me._

All she had to do was switch off the few machines that were keeping him alive, and within a few minutes Phil Coulson would slip away forever. It would be quiet. There would be no mess, no fuss. In fact, it would probably have a certain level of dignity that so few people actually manage to achieve at the ends of their lives.

All she had to do was reach out, cut the power, and let him go.

She continued to sit there in silence. And like him, she only moved to breathe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bobbi continued to hold onto Skye’s arm all the way from Phil’s hospital room to the kitchen, where she’d sat the unusually placid agent down near the counter and had quickly busied herself in searching through the cupboards. Without even meaning to, she started talking.

“I know Simmons can make a mean hot chocolate and Fitz is all about his perfectly heated cup of tea, but in circumstances such as this,” she paused as she withdrew a small, but heavy bottle from the very depths of a cupboard. “I’m going to need something stronger.”

“Bourbon,” nodded Skye, her voice dull yet still faintly approving. Bobbi shrugged as she sat by Skye and opened the top, not even bothering with glasses as she took a swig before handing the bottle over the younger woman who quickly followed suit. For a while the two of them didn’t talk, just passed the bottle between them as they sat together in the mostly darkened base. Soon enough though Bobbi realised that she was left holding the bottle as Skye propped her elbows up on the counter and dropped her head into her hands, not speaking, not crying, not making a sound. Bobbi took one last gulp before placing the bottle on the counter and moving closer to so she was able to wrap her arms around Skye and drop her head onto her shoulder. She could feel her shaking.

“I didn’t say goodbye,” she said eventually, her voice muffled.

Bobbi pulled back. “I don’t think you ever really do. This sort of thing is never ends neatly.”

Skye looked up at this, her face pale and drawn. “How do you get through this?”

Bobbi just shook her head sadly. “I don’t know. I really don’t. You just … do.”

Skye sighed and reached out once again to grab the bottle, when a sudden pounding of feet snapped through the silence and a split second later a frazzled Fitz exploded around the corner. The moment he spotted Bobbi his eyes lit up and her jabbed an excited finger at her.

“You!” he panted. “We — Jemma needs you, now!”

Bobbi was already on her feet. “Oh my God, Fitz! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he exclaimed, his maniacal energy somehow started to infect both her and Skye so that the two women suddenly found themselves on their feet. “Nothing’s wrong, everything’s right! Jemma thinks she’s found a cure!”

“A cure?” repeated Skye. “A cure for what?”

“A cure for Coulson!” he said, and Bobbi felt a swoop of emotion rush through her. “Jemma thinks she can re-create the GH325 serum that saved Coulson the first time.”

Skye’s hands flew to her mouth. “Are you serious?”

“Jemma’s already started working on it,” grinned Fitz. “And that’s why she sent me to get Bobbi. She's going to need all the help she can get, and your biology degree? Very helpful.”

Skye turned to Bobbi, a wide, disbelieving smile blossoming across her face … but Bobbi felt cold. Yes, Jemma might be able to re-create a wonder-drug, but she had an awful feeling that no matter how good this drug might be it wouldn’t be able to bring Coulson back from the dead for a second time.

And she’d just left May alone with him, with the understanding that she was about to take him off life-support.

Without explaining a thing to either Skye or Fitz, Bobbi pushed past the two of them and bolted down the hallway back to Coulson’s room, praying that she wasn’t too late.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Melinda shakily rose to her feet, barely feeling the spikes of pain that radiated up from her left ankle as she automatically shifted all her weight to her right. As she stood above him she thought back to only a little over a day ago when she’d found him in much the same way in Carrington’s base, and as she recalled how he’d opened his eyes then and had looked up at her with such trust and love she felt a painful sting run through her heart. A silent scream started running through her brain, an endless chant, an order. Open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes …

Nothing.

Not that she thought anything could happen. But hope, as painful as it can be, is a difficult thing to destroy.

With a trembling hand she finally reached out and lay her palm against his cheek, her fingers gently running over the weathered lines around his eyes. She wanted to say something. She wanted to say too much. But in the end she said nothing at all and simply leant over him, her hair tickling his face, and kissed him very gently at the corner of his lips away from the tube. It was a brief touch and soon she pulled away to press her forehead against his, her hand still against his face, holding him close. She knew she was trying to give herself time, trying to delay the inevitable, trying to somehow find the strength within her to do what needed to be done. But eventually she realised that she was never going to be stronger than what she was at that very moment. This awful, gnawing ache in her chest wasn’t about to ease anytime soon and this bizarre, dissociative feeling she was experiencing wasn’t going to let up. A small part of her numbed mind knew that this wasn’t a good thing to feel and desperately wanted her to be fully present when she acted as Phil’s angel of mercy, but for the most part Melinda was glad for this surreal, dreamlike state she found herself in. Perhaps it would be easier to live with her sins if she wasn’t completely aware of herself when she committed them.

Finally, with one last kiss to his temple, she pulled away. The cold hearted agent within her looked around to the various machines at sat by his bedside and quickly detected the power source. She limped away from his bedside, looking down at the thin trails of wire and plastic that were keeping Phil alive. All she had to do was remove that and this would all be over.

She hesitated.

She resolved.

She knelt down and wrapped her fingers around the cable …

… when suddenly the door flew inwards and Bobbi burst into the room, her hair in disarray, her eyes frantic.

“Stop!” she cried, her hand outstretched.

Melinda quickly jumped to her feet, staggering back slightly as a small head-rush temporarily blinded her. “What the hell is this?” she demanded, her voice rusty but firm. A second later Skye and Fitz appeared just behind Bobbi.

Bobbi didn’t waste words. “We think we can save him.”

And just like that Melinda found herself much more present in the moment than she had been a second before. “What?”

“Jemma reckons that — with Carrington’s research — she’ll be able to replicate the drug that was used in the T.A.H.I.T.I. project,” panted Fitz, his face red.

Melinda’s head reeled with the new information, taking a few moments to fully process what was being said. “How … how sure are you that this will work?”

“Pretty sure,” said Fitz confidently. “At least, Jemma seems pretty sure.”

“It’s worth a shot at any rate,” added Skye, her eyes shinning with hope.

“Yes,” breathed Melinda, turning back to Phil and lacing her fingers through his. “Yes, definitely.”

“We’re going to get started on this straight away,” said Bobbi. “And the moment any progress is made, you’ll be the first to know.”

Melinda just nodded, still staring down at Phil, her throat tight and her lungs burning. A few seconds later the was the sound of the door shutting, but she also knew instinctively that she wasn’t alone. A glance over her shoulder revealed that Skye had stayed behind, a wide, watery grin lighting up the room.

“He’s going to be fine, May,” she said softly, her whole being so full of hope. “He’s going to be fine.”

Melinda didn’t even notice the tears that started to slip quietly down her face, but when Skye walked over and enveloped her in a warm embrace she began to cry in earnest as the full realisation that she didn’t have to kill the love of her life sunk in, and the relief overwhelmed her like a flood.


	29. Chapter 29

A week passed and the whole while Phil continued to slowly deteriorate. Melinda stayed by his side, only leaving when one of the team pressured her to attend her medical checks and when she had to start her own rehab. For the most part, however, everyone was fine with leaving the two of them alone, content with hanging on the outskirts of this very personal event and providing whatever assistance they could. After returning from once of her appointments Melinda had been touched to find that someone had moved the fold-away cot that had been beside her bed during her coma into to Phil’s room, and on another occasion she’d been surprised to discover that, while she’d been asleep, someone had left a heavy bag of reading material, an MP3 player, snacks and a change of clothes. She suspected that Mack had been responsible for the former and Bobbi the later.

The rest of the team gave them space, but they also went out of their way to make sure that she knew that they were thinking of them. Every now and them someone would come into the room, sit with her, and fill her in on what was happening in the outside world. Fitz would come and lounge in the corner chair where his reports would quickly devolve base-related gossip, and while Melinda never showed it lest she should accidentally encourage it, she rather enjoyed his observations about other members of staff. Mack would lean against a far wall, arms crossed, keeping his reports formal and quick, and from there he would lapse into silence, standing as a rather imposing guard for about half an hour before nodding and excusing himself. Trip’s visits were usually the shortest, but the most frequent. Nearly five times a day he’d stick his head into the room, politely asking if anything had changed, if there was anything she needed, was there anything he could do for both of them. The fact that these questions were always met with virtually the same response did nothing to deter him, and Melinda knew that if something ever did happen he’d probably be the first one there to help. Hunter was by far the most chatty, but what exactly he would talk about Melinda was never able to fully remember. All she knew for sure was that it was absolutely nothing work related and seemed to be mostly long anecdotes about missions and fights he’d been in — most of them somehow involving Bobbi, but in what ways she couldn’t say.

Bobbi and Jemma were her least frequent visitors as they were keeping themselves sealed away in their lab, furiously working on some way to replicate GH325. At first Melinda was eager for their daily progress reports, but as time went on and the answer to her question of _“How’s it coming along?”_ was constantly met with _“We … we haven’t got it quite right, just yet.”_ Melinda found herself pulling away from this new hope that was shinning out at her. While Jemma seemed determined and confident, the lack of actual results were beginning to cast a shadow over Melinda’s previously lightened mood.

Skye was the one who was with her more often than not, usually entering without a word before sitting down on the small cot, pulling out her phone and then proceeding to do goodness-knew-what on that thing. The two of them would rarely speak and were more than happy to sit together in companionable silence for hours at a time, much like they used to before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell when Skye would join her in the cockpit of the Bus and together the two of them would watch the world pass beneath them. Melinda knew Skye liked to talk, and the fact that this young woman was more than happy to be quiet just so Melinda could feel more comfortable was something that warmed her heart. It was only during these few hours that Melinda would allow herself to truly relax, as much as she could, and she would close her eyes and lean back in her chair, listening to all the small, subtle movements that ran lightly through the air of the room.

That’s why she was surprised when, a week after this waiting game had begun, Skye abruptly put down her phone and asked, “Why didn’t you two do something about it earlier?”

Melinda slowly opened her eyes and frowned at this question, which came as if they were already in the middle of a conversation. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and him,” said Skye, gesturing between the two of them. “And why you two just kind of left all this hanging.” When Melinda continued looking a little confused — with a tiny bit of warning flashing in her eyes — Skye elaborated. “Yeah, I know this isn’t my place but … a month ago I was in this exact same position, only you and Coulson were reversed. Him staying by your side no matter what, refusing to have anything to do with anyone who tried to convince him that you were a lost cause. He loves you, May.” At this Melinda broke eye-contact and quickly looked down. “We can all see it. Anyone can see it. And we know you love him, too. So I want to know why you left all this unsaid for so long?”

“You’re right,” said Melinda stiffly. “This isn’t you place to be talking about this.”

“Well, no-one else is going to,” said Skye stubbornly. “You know, when it was you laying there and Coulson beating himself up for not being able to protect you — just like you’re doing to yourself right now — I asked him exactly the same question I just asked you. His answer was … not great, in my opinion. I was kinda hoping yours would be better.”

At this Melinda looked up. “What did he say?”

Skye gave her a sad smile. “He said; ‘I always thought we’d have more time.’.”

Melinda felt her heart swell painfully in her chest and she turned back to Phil, tenderly trailing her fingertips down the side of his face. “Really?” she said softly. “Well … I think I just realised why we didn’t do anything.”

“And why’s that?” asked Skye.

“He’d thought we’d have more time. I thought our time had long since passed us by.”

Skye threw her head back and gave an exaggerated groan. “See this? This is why words are good. Words are useful. I know you don’t like a lot of talk and you and Coulson have been running on the same wave-length for a long time now but … that doesn’t mean you can actually, genuinely, read each other’s minds! No matter how well you know someone, you just can’t take certain things for granted! I … ugh!” Despite everything May had to smile at Skye’s frustration, which only served to annoy her more. “Oh, that’s it! When he wakes up, I’m locking you two away until actual words are spoken and you all stop relying on significant looks, okay? You just watch!”

“Maybe you should think of a new career,” said May, smirking. “In relationship advice?”

Skye snorted and sunk back further into the cot, bringing her phone back up and resuming her serious scrolling. “Not if every couple’s like you two, I’m not. I swear I love you both, but you’re really testing me right now.”

As Skye made a point of ignoring Melinda for whatever was on her phone, she turned back to Phil, her small smile fading once again as that ever present, gnawing worry made itself known once more. Skye was right. They’d left too much unsaid, making the foolish mistake of thinking that past results would always match future outcomes. If — _when_ Phil woke up, they would have a lot of talking to do. Without even realising it Melinda’s mind started forming a plan, or at the very least, it began to go over a previously made plan that now needed a few minor tweaks. When Phil woke up he was still going to need a lot of rehab and somewhere quiet to recover. Somewhere quiet where they both could recover.

That is, if Simmons’ calculations were correct and not just another cruel false hope.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ten days after she’d started her vigil Simmons, Fitz and Bobbi came tentatively into the room, baring a single syringe that contained an unnatural blue-grey liquid. Melinda quickly closed the book she’d been reading and Skye, who was in her habitual position on the cot, threw her phone aside in an instant.

“Is that it?” asked Skye, eyes fixed on the needle. Melinda found her throat was too tight to say anything just yet.

“Yes,” said Simmons slowly and Melinda instantly noticed that this was done without the burst of enthusiasm the young scientist usually showed after having solved a problem. Skye noticed this too.

“You don’t sound overly confident about that,” said Skye, worry beginning to colour her tone.

“Oh, I am!” said Simmons, clearly trying to put her at ease but utterly failing as her body language gave her away, and at both Skye and Melinda’s skeptical looks she sagged a little and went on. “At least, I know that we’ve done all we can do at this point.”

“You have to understand that what we’re working with … it’s unprecedented,” interjected Bobbi. “Even the original doctors that had the GH325 serum didn’t really know what they were doing. All they knew was that an alien biological material was able to regenerate tissue and resurrect people. I assume they all thought they’d be able to figure out the ‘how’ at a later date.”

“So what is that, then?” asked Skye, nodding towards the syringe.

“The closest artificial replica of the serum that we could make,” said Simmons. “Even if we had unlimited time, I don’t think we’re going to be able to make something any better than what we have now.”

“They why are you so unsure?”

“Because even slight changes we’ve made to the formula could dramatically affect the outcome,” said Fitz. “Meaning … that it might not even work.”

“Or worse,” said Simmons, her face grave. “It might not work as well as we need it to.”

There was a pause as the full meaning behind those words sunk in and Melinda suddenly had a horrible image flare up in her mind’s eye of Phil wracked with pain from the result of a half-completed resurrection. So that was the reason for the tension from the three scientists. They were worried that this was about to cause more harm than good. Melinda glanced back at Phil’s cold, still face, exactly the same as it had been for the past ten days with the only change coming from the machines that were hooked up to him, showing that his heart was slowing, his muscles were deteriorating and that with each passing day he was slipping further and further away. This was the only shot they were going to have to bring him back and even if it didn’t work, she’d hate herself more if she never even tried it.

She turned to Simmons. “Do it.”

Simmons pressed her lips together and nodded tightly, before walking up to the other side of Phil’s bed, gently moving his arm to gain access to the catheter that was fixed on the back of his hand, inserting the syringe and injecting the solution into his bloodstream with no hesitation, grander or fuss.

For a few moments Melinda was sure that not a person in the room even breathed. Then suddenly the beeping from the machine monitoring his heartbeat started to increase wildly as his entire body went rigid and started to strain as if he were fighting against invisible bonds. Melinda was instantly on her feet and a tight hand on her arm let her know that Skye was right beside her.

“What’s happening?” she demanded, but Simmons could only shake her head hopelessly.

Phil started making a terrible, retching noise when without warning both his hands shot up, grabbed at the tube that was feeding into his mouth and started to pull.

“No!” cried Melinda, reaching out in an attempt to stop him before Simmons threw her hands in front of him, stopping her.

“Let him do it!” she ordered. “This can sometimes happen with coma patients before they wake up — _you_ did the same thing!”

She watched in horror as Phil ripped his tube out, gagging and choking and completely unaware of his actions, and as she did so she held onto Skye’s hand so tightly she was sure that she must’ve hurt her though she never made a sound. Once the device was gone he collapsed back onto the bed, still unconscious but somehow breathing on his own for the first time in ten days while all around him the machines that were tracking his vitals began to calm down and start beeping at a more regular pace. Melinda’s eyes flickered between his face and the machines before coming back to rest on Simmons, the unspoken question shining in her eyes. Without further prompting Simmons quickly started preforming basic checks on his vitals while the rest of the team stood watching in almost unbearable suspense.

Finally Simmons stepped back, her shoulders dropping as the tension of the past few days visibly lifted from her back and she looked up at Melinda with a shaky smile. “It worked. He’s okay.”

Melinda’s knees gave out from underneath her and with a heavy thump she fell clumsily back into her chair, hot tears of relief springing to her eyes with such force that her vision quickly became blurred. Distantly she could hear Fitz whooping as he picked Simmons up and spun her around and just above her she was aware that Bobbi had jumped to Skye’s side and was now enveloping her in a bear hug that, while eagerly returned, did nothing to loosen the grip she still had on Melinda’s hand. But Melinda only had eyes for Phil. He was still unconscious, but for the first time his face now had a flush of colour to it and with the removable of the tube she could almost imagine that he was just sleeping peacefully right now. She reached out her free hand to lay it against his head, joy spiking within her as she felt a warmth in his skin that had been missing for days now. It had worked. In spite of everything it had actually worked. Melinda suddenly felt a rush of energy run through her, lighting her up from the inside with need and purpose, and after a quick swipe of her eyes she looked towards Bobbi.

The tall agent was grinning like a loon as she caught Melinda’s eye, quickly leaning down to pass a hug onto her as well. “Man’s go more lives than a cat!” she laughed, pulling away. “And I tell you what, I wouldn’t have believed if I didn’t see it.” When she caught the look in Melinda’s eyes her expression suddenly changed to a more serious one, the others in the room quickly picking up on the change in the atmosphere. “What? What is it, May?”

“How long do you think his recovery is going to take from here?” asked Melinda, directing this question not only to Bobbi but to Simmons as well. The two women exchanged a look and a shrug, and began to talk at the same time.

“Well, based on what Skye went through earlier —”

“— and the fact that this still might not be as good as the organic substance that was used in that case —”

“— and considering how much more damaged he sustained —”

Melinda held up her hand. “A rough guess will do.”

Simmons considered it for a moment. “I would think there would be a good three months are needed before I would even consider letting him back at work.”

“And I’d recommend another six months of rehab before he even thinks about going into the field,” added Bobbi.

“He’s not going to like that,” smiled Skye, looking down at him.

“And lucky for him, he’s going to be alive and well while he’s complaining about all the things we’re restricting him from doing,” said Melinda fondly, her hand still stroking his hair. “So, he’s definitely stable now?”

“Absolutely,” nodded Simmons. “Now it’s only a matter of time before he wakes up on his own. Once again, if he follows the same recovery pattern that Skye did, this could be in two to three days.”

“So it’s safe to move him?”

Bobbi frowned a little at this. “What exactly have you got planned, May?”

Melinda smiled, her first genuine and stress-free smile for weeks. “A twenty hour flight for a bit of peace and quiet.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“If things go south, I’m getting you out.”_

_“I see. Where? Tuscan villa?”_

_“Cabin. In the Australian outback.”_

 

It had been a little under a year since Melinda had set up her contingency plan for her and Phil if his alien writing had gotten out of control. It had been tricky organising for a cabin to be set up deep within the Kimberley region of Western Australia, but a handful of remaining Australian S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had risen to the challenge and kept the whole thing a well kept secret from even the Director himself. The cabin was isolated and only accessible by a light aircraft that was left in a hanger next to it, with a dirt runway allowing for easy flights to the nearest township of Kununurra. It was also self-sustaining with solar power and rainwater tanks, and equipped with enough food and medicine to last months between refills. When that was all completed they finally gave it the code-name of _Aragung_ and kept it in a constant state of readiness for immediate use. Once the threat of insanity had passed she had thought of giving them the orders to close the whole thing down, but at the last minute decided to instead mothball it, keeping the cabin unoccupied but in ready-to-use condition as an extremely safe safe-house should the need for one ever arise.

She found it oddly ironic that she was indeed taking Phil to _Aragung_ as previously planned, but under very different circumstances. Before, there had been the fear that Phil would succumb to his compulsive carving and that this little cabin would end up being a cage for a lunatic who would eventually spiral into complete madness and death, with Melinda watching helplessly as his caretaker. Now, however, there was a distinct feeling of hope in her heart. Phil wasn’t going there to die, he was going there to live.

Not everyone was completely on board with this plan. Mack worried that the isolation would cause major problems if there was unseen complications while Trip and Hunter were in agreement that the US military bases that littered the outback might pose a threat if one of them somehow discovered the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. completing his rehab just on their doorstep. Lucky for Melinda, though, the doctors were on her side.

“This looks perfect!” Simmons had said, smiling, as she’d looked though the cabins plans. “You’ll have everything you need and more, and the peace and quiet out there will really go a long way towards his recovery.”

Bobbi had agreed. “What he needs — what you both need — is time away from S.H.I.E.L.D. If he was on base I know nothing would keep him from worrying about what needs to be done. I just know he’d push himself too hard, too soon.”

“Which doesn’t sound at all familiar, does it May?” Mack had asked in an overly innocent tone.

Decision made, they’d loaded all the extra supplies they’d needed onto the Quinjet, along with Phil’s resting form, and had taken the long flight halfway across the world to one of the most beautiful and isolated regions on earth. The flight crew was a small one with only Bobbi and Skye accompanying Melinda to the site, Bobbi flying and Skye officially acting as ‘and extra pair of hands’, although everyone knew she was really going to make sure May and Coulson were settled somewhere nice. The three women had spoken little during the flight with Melinda and Bobbi sharing the controls and all three taking turns to hover over Phil. He had been moving slightly in his sleep and they could tell from the flicker of his eyelids that he was in R.E.M., dreaming about goodness-knew-what, but so far there had been no indication that he was about to wake up any time soon.

They arrived at _Aragung_ late in the afternoon. The moment she stepped off the plane Melinda felt beads of sweat spring out across her forehead as a wave of hot, heavy air washed over her. But the air was sweet and clean, filled with fresh exotic scents that served to invigorate her with each lungful, and as she looked out across the modest little cabin that was fronted by it’s own fruit and vegetable patch she got the impression she was looking at a holiday home more than a secret base.

Thankfully, the inside of the house was significantly cooler. The three of them quickly settled Phil in one of the bedrooms where Melinda once again took her place at his side while Skye and Bobbi first opened the house and set it in order before casing the surrounding area to make sure the entire place was secure. Once they were satisfied they came back in to give Melinda their goodbyes.

“This place is incredible,” Skye said as the three of them stood just outside of Phil’s room. “Did you see the country as we flew over? I don’t know about you, but when I heard the phrase ‘Australian outback’ I kinda just thought of a whole lotta sand and kangaroos.” She paused, thinking. “Actually, I haven’t seen one kangaroo yet. Have you?” When the others just shook their heads, smiling slightly, Skye folded her arms in disappointment. “Well, that’s annoying.”

Bobbi snorted. “Well, aside form the lack of kangaroos, everything else seems to be in order. There’s no cellular reception out here but Fitz fixed your phones to be able to access the satellite network so communication shouldn’t be a problem. But we won’t call you, okay? You call us.”

“Can I just state for the record that I neither understand or accept this condition,” said Skye flatly. “Which basically means, I’m calling you.”

Melinda smiled and pulled Skye into a hug, the two of them holding onto each other a little longer than necessary but neither in a rush to let go. “Thank you so much for everything,” Melinda murmured.

Skye answered in a low voice so that Bobbi couldn’t quite hear. “The only reason I’m not staying until he wakes up is because I can’t stand to be a third wheel, but … if you two haven’t fully said everything you need to by the time we come back, I’m flying straight away again and I’ll be taking the phone.”

Melinda laughed softly as she pulled away. She turned to Bobbi. “You’ll be the acting Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. while we’re away,” she said. “So at least that’s one thing I don’t have to worry about.”

“I hope I’ll be able to live up to that confidence you’ve placed in me,” said Bobbi, her tone light but a slight line of worry etching her brow.

Melinda just smirked. “You were married to Hunter. Compared to that, heading up a vast, secretive organisation is going to be a piece of cake.”

“True,” nodded Bobbi, before extending her hand to shake Melinda’s. “And can I just say, with absolute sincerity … get well soon.”

Melinda grinned and nodded, and with a few more parting hugs and promises of phone calls Skye and Bobbi left, the sound of the Quinjet echoing throughout the otherwise unpopulated countryside long after Melinda had lost sight of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A little over two days passed since Phil had been given the life-saving injection. Life at _Aragung_ was like living in a forgotten part of the world, so utterly free from outside influences that Melinda hadn’t even heard so much as a plane pass overhead since the others left. She had spent very little time outdoors or even away from Phil’s room since she arrived and so didn’t know too much about the country other than it was beautiful, humid and hot. On the first night she’d stayed awake, resting in an easy chair next to Phil’s bed as she gazed out the open window and up into the most incredible night’s sky she’d ever seen, so full of light and stars and an enormous full moon that she’d almost been resentful at the pull of sleep that had eventually forced her to close her eyes. The next day the heat and humidity spiked, as she was warned it could, and later in the afternoon she was treated to an awesome lightening display as a dry storm cracked and raged across the rugged landscape, serving to make it appear even more beautiful and other-worldly than before.

But it was the quiet that Melinda loved the most. After the constant rattle and hum of the Playground it was both jarring and a relief to be somewhere that was so utterly peaceful, where the only noisy neighbours were flocks of birds that wheeled and soared across the plains every day at dawn and dusk. In these quiet conditions she was able to hear every little noise Phil now made, whether it was a deeper pull of breath or a light mutter made in his sleep. Every time she heard a new sound she’d sit bolt upright in her chair and stare at his face, her breath caught in her chest as she watched for some movement that would indicate that he was waking up. But after a few moments she’d have to accept that it was a false alarm and would then sink back into her chair, trying her best to ignore the pins of disappointment stabbing at her heart.

She never knew what it was that woke her up in the small hours of their second night there, nor could she remember the actual process of waking up in itself. All she knew was suddenly she was fully aware, curled up in her chair with a light blanket wrapped around her, her chin tucked into her chest and her face angled at the window. She blinked heavily a couple of times, disorientated, before straightening, stretching, and turning to check of Phil in exactly the same way she’d been doing for nearly twelve days.

And when she saw his eyes wide open and staring up at her she nearly had a heart-attack.

She let loose a half-strangled yelp and leapt to her feet, the blanket sliding off and pooling on the ground. She was at his side in a flash, her hands gently cupping his face as she gazed down at him in the dim light of the stars, anxiously looking in his eyes as she searched for a sign that he was truly back, that he was really awake. “Phil?” she gasped. “Phil, it’s me. Can you hear me?”

There was a long pause. He stared up at her, blinking once, then twice, before he lifted one of his hands to wrap his fingers gently around her wrist. He licked his dry lips and very slowly managed to say three words. “Who are you?”

Melinda felt her heart go cold. She froze, unable to remove her hands from his face, unable to speak, unable to even blink. _No, no, no,_ she thought numbly. _No, this can’t happen_ again _…_

Then she noticed the faint, playful smile pulling at the corner of his lips along with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and just like that warmth flooded back into her body and her heart began to beat again. She collapsed against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding him close. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she cried softly, feeling an incredible wash of anger, relief, joy and even a slight sense of humour run through her like a drug. “If I wasn’t sure that I’d probably knock you right back into a coma I’d slap you!” She could feel him laughing softly underneath her and when she pulled away she was both furious and delighted to see his smile.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he said, his voice weak but his eyes bright and clear, staring up at her with such open love and adoration that she very nearly forgave him then and there. He reached up and tucked an errant piece of hair back behind her ear, trailing his fingers down her neck as he did so and making her shiver. He seemed to be drinking her in like her could never gaze at her enough. “Are you okay?”

Melinda burst out laughing, feeling those damn tears once again filling her eyes but unlike the previous weeks, these were now tears of joy. “Am I okay?” she repeated incredulously. “Phil, you’ve been shot, experimented on, buried, and have been in a coma for the past twelve days!”

He just grinned goofily up at her. “Yeah … but _you’re_ okay?”

Melinda rolled her eyes and bent down to kiss him, his lips firm and hungry against her own. She felt his arms come up to wrap around her, warm and strong considering how badly injured he’d been. It seemed that Simmons’ formula was definitely leading to a quick recovery.

When they finally pulled apart he licked at his lips again and politely asked, “Water?”

Melinda nodded, pulling away slightly to grab at a water bottle that was sitting on the bedside desk with one hand while resolutely holding onto Phil with the other. Together they managed to get him into a sitting position and after a few carefully controlled sips he was able to talk more clearly.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Nearly four in the morning.”

He nodded, his thumb running across the back of her hand that he was holding. “And where exactly are we?”

Melinda gave him a warm little smile. “Oh, that doesn’t really matter, Phil. All you need to know is that it’s a magical place.”

Phil blanched at this and his hand convulsed in hers before he realised that her little smile had turned into a sly smirk. He let loose a sigh of relief and dropped his head against her shoulder. “Okay. Okay, I deserved that. Are we even?”

“We’re even when I say we’re even,” said Melinda. Phil groaned and then pulled back, shifting slightly on his bed to make more room on her side. “What are you doing?”

“You can't spend the night in that chair,” he said. He then hesitated and looked up at her, unsure. “Unless … unless this is a little too much, too soon …?”

As he trailed off Melinda got a sudden, vivid vision of Skye’s face, which she quickly pushed away even as she knew exactly why she’d thought of her. She gently cupped his face and leaned in to kiss him very chastely, lingering against his closed lips in a way that reminded both of them of their first kiss. And just like their first kiss, it took a few moments for Phil to again open his eyes.

“I love you, Phil Coulson,” she said simply, her heart fit to burst. “I never stopped. It was like a fire deep within me, sometimes low, sometimes bright, but never, never going out. So yes, I’ll share your bed, but I want more. I want to share our thoughts, our dreams, our everything. I want to share our lives. No more secrets, okay? No more half-spoken understandings that give us room to pretend that it doesn’t really mean anything when we both know it does. No more not knowing where we stand with each other. I love you. And I want to love you without limits.”

Phil was staring up at her as if he couldn’t believe she was real and when he spoke his voice was thick with emotion. “I want that. I want all of that. I just … I never thought we could actually have it.”

She smiled. “I think we’re going to have to work at it.”

“Oh, and I will,” he nodded eagerly. “I very much will. I love you, Melinda. I love you so much I can’t even imagine what kind of person I’d be without you.”

“Well, you’ll never have to,” she said, pulling back the blankets and crawling into bed with him. She sighed with joy and she curled up against his side, her head resting against his shoulder, just under his chin, her arm snaking up to loop over his other shoulder, her fingers lightly playing with the hair at the back of his neck. She felt his arms come up to wrap around her, holding her close, and as he did he dropped a kiss against her crown and then stayed there.

And for the first time in years Melinda felt a true sense of peace, as if after a long and harrowing journey she’d finally found her way back home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A babble of birdsong awoke Phil early the next morning. For a few seconds he was completely disorientated but then he felt a slight shifting against his side and his attention was drawn to the beautiful woman who was currently sleeping on his chest. A soft ‘Oh,’ of comprehension left his lips and he relaxed back into their shared pillow with a faint smile.

He still wasn’t overly sure what had happened. He remembered the countdown to the explosion … then everything just sort of faded out until he’d suddenly awoken in a strange room looking out a window on an unfamiliar environment, with Melinda May sleeping in a chair just next to his bed. With everything that had happened after that in the pale night light he’d had a horrible feeing that it might’ve been nothing more than a vivid dream, but as he felt her warm weight in his arms and listened to the little noises she made while she dreamed, he was suddenly hit with the full force of the knowledge that everything had been very, very real.

She loved him. She loved him. She was okay, her memories were back, and she loved him. It was incredible. After everything they’d been through, they’d finally somehow managed to meet each other again. He wanted to leap and cheer like a fool, he wanted to shout it to the world, he wanted to kiss her awake and tell her that he loved her again and again and again.

But there would be time for all that later. They finally had time working on their side. So all he did was kiss her very lightly before closing his eyes again and letting himself fall into a peaceful doze, the sound of birds singing floating softly through the room.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an Australian I'm always a little unimpressed when people refer to the 'outback' as a specific place, like ... that's actually 70% of the country. Where exactly are you talking about??? So I chose the Kimberley region, which is without doubt some of the most spectacular country in the world. Google it!
> 
> Also, Aragung is a Dharawal word for 'shield' (see what I did there?), but the Dharawal language is from the Sydney area and so it's a word that wouldn't be found in that part of the country. However, that's actually keeping in style with some of the place names out there (Pine Gap - no pines. Monkey Mia - no monkeys. Kia Ora - a Maori greeting. El Questro - man, don't even ask). And maybe the agents were from Sydney?
> 
> And we're nearly at the end. A massive thank you for everyone who's read, commented and kudos'd, you're all awesome people! <3


	30. Chapter 30

The rugged red gorges and deep green rivers that cut between acted as massive and impenetrable natural boarders that kept _Aragung_ secluded from the outside world, and during the entirety of those three months they didn’t see a single human being. At first Phil had been nervous at their isolated and intimate lodgings. For some bizarre reason, even though they’d just talked their feelings through that first morning they’d woken up in each other’s arms, bathed in heavy, golden sunlight, he still had small niggling doubts that ate away at his happiness like a blight. He worried that she’d tire of him. He worried that she might not truly like the person he was, now there was no danger, no other agents, and no S.H.I.E.L.D. to hide behind. He’d instantly scoffed at this, arguing with his own uncertainty that they had both spent the better part of three decades together and if she was going to get sick of his face it would’ve happened by now. But even with logic on his side and wrapped up in the absolute certainty of her love, it had been difficult to shake off this unreasonable fear.

These lingering uncertainties came to a head about a week after they’d arrived. Phil had just been starting to walk again but so far could only travel in short bursts from the bedroom to the living room and back again, Melinda holding his arm the entire time. They’d been reclining together on a massive lounge, sipping cool tea and listening to the sound of insects buzzing during an otherwise silent day, the fierce sun beating down mercilessly on any creature foolish enough to be wandering around during midday. His eyes were half-closed as he wandered the line between daydreams and actual dreams while Melinda relaxed against him, idly flicking through a book. He had his arm looped around her shoulders, his hand coming to rest just at the bottom of the throat, his fingers stroking her skin lightly in a comforting, familiar way. However, he wasn’t so close to sleep that he missed the way she abruptly closed her book and by the time she’d straightened and turned to face him he was alert and attentive.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s bothering you, yet?” she asked suddenly.

Phil blinked in confusion. “What?”

Melinda’s face softened. “I see it in your eyes sometimes. You seem like you’re waiting for something.” When at first he couldn’t answer, just shook his head helplessly, she’d smiled at him kindly to put him at his ease. “C’mon Phil. You’re supposed to be the chatty one.”

“And what if that’s the problem?” he blurted out, finally finding his tongue. “We’re all alone out here, there’s no way for you to escape from me. What if … what if you get sick of all our one sided conversations? What if my … quirks … stop being interesting and start becoming annoying?”

“What if you find you can’t stand my constant silence?” countered Melinda. “What if you can’t look at me when you see what I’m like after a night-terror? What if you discover that you don’t want the me that I am now, you want who I was ten years ago?”

“That’s never going to —” Phil started fiercely, then stopped. “Ah. I see what you did there.”

Melinda reached up and traced her fingers over his brow, his eyes flickering closed at her gentle touch. “Where is this coming from?” she asked.

“My own stupid head,” said Phil, pulling her hand down and kissing her knuckles. “I suppose … I’m still finding it hard to believe that this is real. That there isn’t some last awful surprise waiting to ruin everything.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, and he looked surprised. “I do. Draw back to being field agents, I guess — always got to be thinking of the worst-case-scenario.”

“Okay, new worst-case-scenario,” said Phil, straightening. “The only one we’ll be concerned about; Skye decides that she can’t actually stay away for the whole three months and she brings everyone back here at a very inconvenient moment for us.” Melinda giggled and relaxed back into his side. “I mean it. This is the only and single worst thing that either of us can think about. Actually, I might’ve gone too far, I think I’ve genuinely scared myself.”

Communication between the two of them became more open and truthful than what it had been for years, and every now and then Melinda felt a swift sense of déjà vu sweep through her as she realised that they hadn’t been this in tune with each other since their first years in the field. The early weeks were lost to a haze of slow, gentle healing as they gradually learnt to use their bodies again, Phil weak from what he’d endured and Melinda still recovering from being in a coma for three weeks. Soon enough the house became too small and they found themselves first wandering the immediate area just around the cabin, then going further and further afield. The landscape was beyond anything either of them had ever seen before. Ancient, weathered crags cut their way through a dry yet fertile country, with splashes of green contrasting sharply against the red, orange and yellow ochre of the gorges. The rivers were wide and still and even though their deep green depth looks tantalisingly inviting during the stifling hot days, neither of them ducked so much as a toe in. There had been a note left by the agents that established the base, warning of crocodiles in those waters. Even though they’d been assured that they were ‘only freshies’ neither Phil or Melinda wanted to risk starting their rehab all over again due to — of all things — a crocodile attack.

They had also been advised that the season known simply as ‘The Wet’ was just beginning to come around and soon the weather fell into a pattern where it would be excruciatingly hot in the morning before dark, heavy storm clouds would roll in, bringing with them a torrential downpour that wold start and end as abruptly as thought, which would then leave the afternoon comfortably warm with high light clouds still lingering until sunset. They’d only been caught once in an afternoon storm, but once was definitely enough.

After nearly ten weeks at _Aragung_ Phil had surprised Melinda in the late afternoon with a small back, a rolled up blanket, and an odd announcement.

“It’s going to be a full moon tonight.”

Melinda had delicately raised one eyebrow and continued smoothly with her Tai Chi. This didn’t deter Phil at all as he took a seat on the lounge, clasped his hands together and continued talking.

“Because, the way I see it … I don’t think I’ve ever actually taken you on a date. A real proper …” he stumbled slightly over the next word. “… _romantic_ date. Now, options are pretty sparse around here. Not too many fine dining establishments, that’s for sure. But, luckily, I’m a traditionalist.” He smiled and despite her best efforts to keep a neutral expression she could feel the corners of her lips twitching. He didn’t call her out on it. “So … would you like to accompany me to the top of the nearest ridge where we can watch the sun set and the moon rise, all with wine and other edibles? In other words …” Here his smile had transformed into a grin and he rose to his feet to stand right in front of her. “Melinda May, will you go on a date with me?”

She couldn’t help herself. For one of the few times in her life she stopped her tai chi routine midway. _Worth it_ , she thought, cupping her hands against the back of his neck and kissing him in affirmation.

The air was humid and although there was a threatening rumble to the north that was punctuated every now and then by streaks of lightening, it seemed that the storm would be staying far off this time. Phil had led the way and as they’d clambered up the steep ridge-line Melinda kept her eyes on how he was moving, only managing to truly relax when she was confident that he wasn’t putting himself under any unnecessary strain. More so, he seemed pretty much healed, hiking and carrying the backpack along and a few other lumpy bag with a thoughtless ease. She didn’t know quite when had happened, but it seemed that Phil was pretty much physically recovered. This served to lift a final weight from her heart that she hadn’t even realised was still there and by the time they had reached the treeless top she was glowing with a brightness that would rival the sun itself.

The sun set was about half an hour away so the glare was still hot and yellow, making Melinda squint and turn her gaze eastward. Phil made a big show of laying out a rug and arranging the few pillows he’d insisted on lugging up with them before she was allowed to take a seat, and only when he was sure she was comfortable did he lay out a delicious spread of fruits, crackers and cheeses, finishing it off by pouring them a glass of light, sparking wine each. They smiled at each other and clinked their glasses, content to just lay underneath the waning light together, watching the flocks of chattering birds swoop and dive around them and enjoying the changing sky as the sun’s hot colour was slowly drained away and replaced with more temperate blues and pinks.

“So, how was you conversation with Skye?” Phil eventually asked after a comfortable lull, his glass nearly empty as he lounged on his side. Skye had finally called them earlier that morning, bubbling with excitement to finally talk to the people she missed dearly.

Melinda’s own cup was already drained and she was now on her back, her head propped on one of the pillows as she looked up into the changing evening sky. “Wonderfully one sided,” she smiled. “Although now I know why it took her so long to call us in the first place.” Phil’s lips pressed together and he nodded thoughtfully, his expression so serious that she had to laugh a little.

“What?”

“Unless you’ve decided that you genuinely want to be known as the protective father,” she said jokingly. “Her and Trip shouldn’t be such a surprise, Phil.”

“It’s not that,” he said defensively. At her cheekily raised eyebrow he repeated, “It’s not! It’s … something else she said.”

“Oh?” said Melinda, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on one hand.

Phil nodded, drained the last of his wine, and dropped down to lay beside her, his own hand against his cheek in a mirror position of hers. “I don’t think she meant to say it,” he started. “It just sort of slipped out but … it did get me thinking.”

“What did she say?”

Phil gaze was traveling over every inch of her face, yet he avoided her eyes. He reached out to gently play with the end of her hair. “She asked us if we’d set a date.”

Her mirth faded. “I see. But you’re not the marrying type,” she said, her tone neither wistful or accusing. This was just a fact about him.

“But you are,” he said softly, still playing with her hair.

She put her hand over his to still it. “I don’t need to be married to you to want to be with you.”

He finally look at her directly and what she saw made her heart begin to beat just a little faster. “I know. But, regardless, it got me thinking. About us in the long run. About how things are going to have to change when we get back to base, how we’re going to run missions, how we’re going to break it to your mother  _again_ , and going to visit your father. I started to think about all the different options and decisions that were now laying ahead of us, of all the dozens of possibilities and hundreds of different outcomes but …” He paused and moved closer to her. “But the one thing I didn’t plan on, the one thing I didn’t see … was _any_ future where we don’t make this work.”

Melinda closed the distance between them and kissed him, their touches now practised and very familiar. They pulled back slightly, eyes closed, their foreheads resting against each other.

“Don’t fix me as the man that would never get married,” he whispered breathlessly. “Because if I ever did, it would be for you. Only you.”

“I’ve waited this long,” she grinned, shrugging slightly. Phil let out a chuckle as she grabbed at her waist and rolled her so that she was on top of him and the two of them continued to make out like teenagers. It took a while for them to notice the deepening darkness that surrounded them and by the time they pulled away the moon had already slipped above the horizon.

Melinda gasped. It was huge, glowing with a deep golden colour as it was set against a sky that ran from red to pink to blue. She dropped her head to lay it against Phil’s chest, still staring out at the magnificent sight. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” murmured Phil, kissing the top of her head.

For a while they just lay there, watching as the golden moon gradually fade into its standard silver while the sky became a deep indigo, while all the birds were slowly retired for the night only to be replaced by swift and silent bats. The stars started to appear like dewdrops in the sky and while Phil had first been excited to talk about various constellations he’d quickly become crestfallen when she’d laughingly pointed out that they were in a completely different hemisphere and the stars were not the ones he’d grown up under. The air stayed warm and the two of them remained wrapped in each other’s arms until the darkness was complete, pointing out shooting stars and satellites, making up their own stories for all the different shapes the could see above them.

“Skye also asked when we’d be coming back,” Phil mentioned, just as Melinda had started to doze off. She made a low hum and turned to nuzzle at his neck, his arms tightening around her as she did.

“One more week,” she protested sleepily.

He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I completely agree. One more week. At least.”

They stayed curled up in each other’s arms underneath the expanse of stars until a burning glow on the eastern horizon heralded the new day.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Oh my goodness, what a ride!!! Thank you thank you thank you so much everyone who read, kudos'd and left those incredibly kind comments on any and all chapters, this is all for you to enjoy - so I'm glad you did!
> 
> I've been writing all over for years now, but usually sticking to one shots or not having the energy to complete the multi-chapters I started (yes, I have been guilty of abandoning fics). This is my first completed multi-chaptered fic and I know the reason for this is you guys, with all your kind, supportive comments and encouragement to continue. The Philinda fandom is such a sweet community and I'm so happy to be a part of it!!!
> 
> So I'm sending out a massive hug to everyone who enjoyed this fic and once again, thank you so much!!!


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